Don't Let Go
by MissyMo2005
Summary: Based on 'Me Before You' by Jojo Moyes.
1. Chapter 1

_So I thought I'd do something to try and distract myself from the excitement of the fact I'm finally getting to go to New York this weekend- and what better to do than share a little teaser of what's to come in my new story with you all! I really hope you'll enjoy it, I'll be back with more when I'm back home again. Let me know what you think!xx_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _ **February 20th, 2009**_

He was running late, and not just ten minutes late but a little over three hours. It wasn't his fault, and he hadn't done it on purpose- this time at least. He'd been so wrapped up in what he was doing, finalising the remaining few details before he was due to deploy to Afghanistan at the beginning of the next week, that the time had just completely gotten away from him. He somehow doubted that Rebecca would see it that way. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd be in bed surrounded by wedding magazines and lists of things to do, planning what was probably going to be the biggest wedding anyone had ever seen thanks to a little encouragement from his mother, and she'd bombard him with endless questions the second he walked through the door. He kept on telling her that whatever she wanted would make him happy, and trying to gently remind her that he'd got six months in Afghanistan to get himself through before he could even really think about any of this. He hadn't missed the look on her face every time he made reference to the fact he was going to be leaving her again. She'd known what she was getting into with him from day one, he'd always known he wanted to join the army, but for some reason she seemed to enjoy making it harder on him having to leave than it already was.

He pulled the collar of his uniform up around his neck as he walked out to his car, the icy wind sending a shiver down his spine. At least Afghanistan would be warm, there was always an upside he kept telling himself. Then again he wasn't sure he'd actually enjoy the stifling desert heat anymore than he was enjoying the subzero temperatures that February had brought. He was tempted to run to his car to get out of the mixture of hail and snow that was raining down on him, but even in the dim light of the car park he could see the ground was icy and treacherous and he knew he'd probably fall over if he tried to do anything other than walk slowly. The thought of driving home down winding little roads was far from appealing. He briefly wondered what Rebecca would have to say if he just stayed the night. He could imagine vividly how that conversation would go down, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't have a fiancée to go home to when he got back from Afghanistan if he did that.

He climbed into his car, his nice shiny little silver sports car that Rebecca hated him having and kept telling him at every opportunity that he'd have to change ready for when they had kids, and started the engine. He groaned in frustration as he realised that his windscreen was frozen solid and he'd used the last of his de-icer that morning. Reluctantly he turned the heating up and sat there, staring at the ice on the window as it slowly started to melt. It was going to be a slow process. The clock on the screen on the dashboard ticked ever closer to nine o'clock.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the picture of him and Rebecca on the lock screen for a moment. It had been taken on a holiday to New York, the trip she'd been pestering him to go on for months until he'd finally caved. He needed to learn to relax a bit more, she'd told him. There was life outside the army- that was her new favourite phrase at the moment. She was right, and he'd had an amazing time, but despite the fact she kept trying to push him he wasn't going to be ready to consider leaving the army any time soon. He didn't know how much clearer he could make that to her. There was still so much he wanted to do and achieve, the army felt like his home and he knew she'd never understand that. As he'd tried to explain it to her that it wasn't that he didn't want to be there with her every day, because he did, but the army gave him a sense of purpose and belonging that he'd never quite managed to find at home.

As if she'd known he was thinking about her, his phone rang. He hit the button on his steering wheel to answer the call and the sound of her voice filled the car over the roar of the heater. At least his windscreen was finally beginning to clear and he could think about heading for home.

"Where are you?" She asked, straight to the point as always. The tone of her voice immediately made him picture her standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips as she glared at him for putting something back in the wrong drawer or whatever it was he had done this time. She never managed to stay angry at him for long.

"I was just about to call you." He put the car into gear and focused for a second on navigating his way out of the icy car park without hitting the few cars that were still scattered around. "Sorry, I got held up sorting things out for next week." He had genuinely meant to call her, he hated the thought of her sitting there on her own in an empty house wondering where he was. It was just that as per usual one thing had led to five other things that he needed to sort before he could go and there were never enough hours in the day.

She was quiet for a second and he wondered if they'd lost the connection. "I know." She answered quietly. "Are you on your way home now?" She asked. She'd been sitting by the window of the house they'd bought together almost a year ago now, watching the thick snow flakes as they fell to the ground and worrying about him driving home so late at night.

"Yeah I left ten minutes ago." He lied. Somehow it seemed better in his head if she thought he'd at least left before nine o'clock. He wasn't really sure the logic behind it and she'd probably know he was lying anyway, she always did.

"Okay. Drive carefully, there's lots of snow here." She told him, he could hear the worry in her voice.

"I will. It's pretty icy here too. Might take me a bit longer to get home." It was days like this where he hated this car as much as Rebecca did, even though he loved it at the same time. It was giving him a headache concentrating on trying to keep it facing in the right direction and going forwards as the tyres skidded trying to find some grip on the icy road. If she could see him now she'd be launching into another one of those carefully thought through lectures on why it really wasn't a safe and practical family car.

"Please be careful." She reminded him again. "Do you want me to put you a plate of dinner in the microwave? I made your favourite spaghetti." She asked.

"This is why I love you." He grinned. "I'll see you in half an hour or so?"

"Yeah, I'll wait up for you." She agreed, he could hear the smile that was playing on her lips in her voice. "I love you."

"Love you." He replied automatically, hanging up the phone and turning on the radio. His eyes squinted in the darkness as he focused on the road in front of him. He knew the route like the back of his hand, he'd been driving it twice a day almost every day for months, but in the dark and covered in a fine dusting of snow it looked different, almost eerie somehow. His foot inched down on the accelerator a little more, as much as he dared, if he carried on crawling along at this pace he'd be lucky to make it home before his weekend off was over. His stomach growled at the thought of his dinner sitting on the plate waiting for him and his mind was a million miles away, still thinking about the pile of stuff he'd left on his desk unfinished and thinking about everything he still had to do.

He was ten minutes from the main road, and fifteen minutes from home. His tried and tested short cut down the back roads had probably cost him more time than if he'd gone down the main road in these icy conditions, but it was force of habit. He'd been driving that way for months and knew where he was going well enough that he didn't really need to pay attention. It was handy, considering the fact that his brain really wasn't paying any attention to where he was going.

The deer that shot out of the pitch black woodland to his left frightened the life out of him and snapped him back into paying attention to where he was actually going and reminded him of the fact he needed to concentrate on what he was doing. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body as a result of the near miss. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tight, leaning forward in his seat a little as he focused on the dark and icy narrow road in front of him.

He might've been paying extra attention, but he still didn't see the other deer run out in front of him until the very last second. His instinct to swerve out of the way took over, even though somewhere in the back of his mind it had already registered that the road was too narrow and he hadn't got anywhere to go, he pulled the steering wheel hard. Time seemed to stand still as the animal stood frozen in the glare of the headlights.

He didn't realise he'd closed his eyes until the sound of splintering glass brought him back to reality. He'd forced his eyes open to look and see if he'd hit the deer, but his attention was drawn to the terrifying sensation of spinning as the car flipped off the road, hitting a patch of ice as he'd swerved. He couldn't quite tell what direction he was facing in for the split second that the car was airborne, then it landed back on the ground in the ditch with an almighty crash that deafened him.

He could see the dim light of his phone screen, now smashed in a similar fashion to his windscreen, in the footwell. It took him a moment to process that it was underneath him because the car had landed almost on the roof in the ditch. Then with the searing pain that had shot through his entire body as he tried to move to reach it, conscious of the fact there was a real possibility no one would know where he was down the deserted road, he'd quickly realised moving wasn't going to be an option. He could barely catch his breath and he was aware of the sensation of blood seeping down his forehead from where he guessed it had hit the steering wheel. He 'd been about to make one final attempt to try and grab his phone and call for help when everything around him had started to spin and he'd passed out, slumped against the steering wheel.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey everyone! Thanks so much to everyone who read the last chapter, I loved reading all your comments! As you were all so lovely, here's the next chapter coming to you from New York courtesy of a whole lot of jet lag! Enjoy xx_

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

 _ **January 14th, 2012**_

1452\. That was the number of steps between the tube station and the dismal little house she lived in with her parents and the rest of the little bleeders, all squashed in like sardines. She knew because she'd been counting as she'd walked slowly home, dragging her feet and finding anything to make the journey take a few minutes extra so she didn't have to go back there.

She turned onto their street, albeit a little reluctantly. They'd lived on that street for her entire life. It was filled with memories- good and bad. She'd taken her first steps there, learned to ride a bike down the uneven road- then her first trip to hospital after she'd ridden it over a pothole, fallen off and broken her arm. It was also the street where she'd watched her parents have a blazing row in the middle of the road on more than one occasion after her Dad, Dave had been down the pub all afternoon. She could still feel the humiliation when she'd had to go back to school the next day. She would've liked to blame the fact she hardly ever went to school on that, but she had to admit it probably had more to do with the fact she just hated it.

The heat inside the house hit her like a wall as she walked through the front door. Her Mum always had the heating cranked right up so the house was like a bloody sauna, which was ridiculous considering they could never actually afford to pay the heating bills. Her Dad had said on numerous occasions they'd be millionaires living in some huge mansion where they didn't have four kids squashed in a bedroom that was barely big enough if they didn't have the heating turned up so high. She liked to think about it sometimes, if she was having a particularly crap day. It was like a little fantasy land that her mind could wander off into as an escape from the miserable reality.

"Molly, is that you?" Her Mum shouted from upstairs.

"Yep." She called back up the stairs. She stripped her coat off, already sweltering in the heat of the house despite the cold outside, and wrestled the kids coats as she tried to find a space on the hook to hang her own on. She could hear the sound of splashing water upstairs and laughter, her Mum had got the two smallest little bleeders in the bath by the sounds of it. At least that would give her ten minutes peace and quiet until they came back down the stairs like a whirlwind.

"You're home early." Her Dad commented as she kicked her shoes off and made her way into the kitchen. It was bloody typical that he was going to chose today of all days to be at least mostly sober and observant. She decided to pretend she hadn't heard him, she flicked the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea. The noise of the kettle starting to boil filled the cramped little kitchen and drowned out any potential conversation her Dad might've been trying to make, thankfully. She'd opened the tin where the tea bags were, or rather should've been, and found it empty. She chucked the tin back down on the counter and switched the kettle off. Of course, she'd forgotten that Dave had declared that tea, along with a whole load of other things he didn't use were 'too expensive'. Of course it was still okay for him to go and spend a week's worth of food shopping money down the pub a couple of times a week. That, he classed as an essential item. She hadn't even been surprised.

She'd grabbed the crumbling remains of a sponge that sat on the windowsill- another reminder that they didn't actually have enough money to spare even for that- and set about scrubbing the kitchen clean. Every morning she'd clear it up before she went to work, and every morning she'd come home and find it looking like a bomb had gone off. The butter sat on the side, open with a knife sticking out of the top and what looked like it was probably the half eaten remains of a sandwich, maybe cheese, laid on the draining board of the sink. She had almost been convinced they were doing it deliberately just to wind her up, and if they were it was certainly working.

Her Mum had conveniently come back down the stairs just as she'd finished cleaning the kitchen, well it was the closest to clean it was ever going to get. The cynic in her liked to think she'd done it on purpose, but she knew her Mum was trying even if it didn't feel like it half of the time. She was overrun with kids and her Dad seemed to have decided that the sick note he'd managed to get by lying about his back excused him from having to help her. Molly was probably more of a parent to those kids than he would ever be, but then again that might be for the best she'd decided.

"You're home early love." Her Mum commented, coming through into the kitchen. There was a crash from the living room, followed by a stream of expletives from her Dad and laughter from the kids. Neither of them bothered to go and look to see what they'd broken this time. "I'm sorry I was going to tidy up in here before you got back, time just got away a bit." She smiled apologetically. They both knew she had absolutely no intentions of cleaning up, but every day she still said it.

"It's okay." Molly shrugged, offering her a small smile. "You've had your hands full." She had noticed the fact her Mum was looking more and more tired recently. As the kids had gotten that little bit older they'd somehow become even more work to look after and it was a lot for one person to try and handle. She felt guilty every morning, leaving her Mum with them, but she was also the only person in the house who had a job to earn some money to pay the bills. Or rather she had been.

"You got the afternoon off or something?" Her Mum asked, opening the fridge and staring at the empty shelves. Molly could see her trying to work out how she was going to put together a meal for all of them from half a tin of beans and some questionable cheese that they almost certainly shouldn't be eating. Belinda wrinkled her nose in disgust and turned her attention back to Molly, she'd come back to the problem of what they were all going to eat later.

"Not exactly." Molly mumbled. She focused her eyes on the sticky mark that still remained on the Lino floor that was now turning a disgusting shade of grey instead of its original white. How many hours had she spent one weekend trying to clean that floor? She'd been so determined to succeed, and then she'd failed anyway. Story of her life really. "He let me go."

"You what?" She heard her Dad shriek from the other room. Typical Dave, couldn't hear someone shouting him to help with the kids from the next room but the second something jeopardised his beer money he'd developed supersonic bloody hearing.

"Oh Mol." Her Mum pulled her into a hug, shooting daggers at her Dad who was now standing in the entrance to the kitchen in his pants. He looked worried but they all knew he was worried about the money rather than his daughter. "What happened?"

She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling as she looked back and forth between the two of them. She wasn't upset at the thought of not going back to the nail bar. She hated that place with a passion and part of her was overjoyed at the thought of never having to sit there and listen to some boring old woman drone on about her insanely boring middle class life again. It was the more pressing issue, of how the hell they were going to afford to keep a roof over their heads, that was worrying her. She delved her hand into her pocket and pulled out the little brown envelope, her last pay packet, that she'd been staring at the whole way home in shop.

He'd apologised, several times in fact, and told her she'd been a great employee and he was really sorry to do it to her. The shop wasn't doing so well anymore he'd explained, and he'd been offered an opportunity to move up to Scotland to open a new place with a friend so he was going to give that a go. She'd stared at him open mouthed for a minute, before finally plucking up the courage to ask when. She'd nearly fallen over when he'd explained that the lease was up at the end of the week and he was actually closing after today. He'd thrust the little envelope of money into her hand and sent her on her way with another apology. The apologies were meant well, but they didn't help with anything at all. Her job had been the only thing that was just about keeping them afloat. He'd quite literally pulled the life raft from under them without even realising it. She knew at the end of the day it was going to all come down to her finding another job to try and support them.

"What the bloody hell are we supposed to do now?" Her Dad asked from the doorway. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so worried, except maybe the time those debt collectors had turned up and he thought they were going to take the tv away.

"She'll find another job. She's a clever one our Mols." Her Mum squeezed her in a bit tighter. She said it with such conviction and faith that for a moment Molly almost believed her that it could be that simple. Almost.

"There ain't any bleedin' jobs out there! You know that as well as I do!" He argued. "How do you think we're going to pay the bills Belinda?"

"How would you know there's no jobs out there?" Belinda snapped back at him. He might be right but there wasn't a chance in hell she was ever going to admit that to him. "Maybe if you got your lazy ass off the sofa and went somewhere other than the pub you might get a job and support your family like you're supposed to instead of relying on your daughter to do it for you!"

"Don't give me any of that shit you know I'm injured!" Dave roared back at her.

Molly silently extricated herself from her Mother's arms and made a beeline for the stairs. She'd heard this exact argument so many times before she knew exactly how it would end and she didn't want to stick around for it. She'd got more important things to do, like trying to find herself another job before her Dad could drink his way through her last lot of wages. Her fingers went into her pocket again and stroked the small roll of notes that she'd siphoned out of her wages and kept to one side where Dave wouldn't know about it. For an emergency, she told herself, and she was sure there'd be a point in the not so distant future when she'd be thankful she had the foresight to do it, but at the moment she just felt guilty as she tucked the notes into the small hole she'd made in the back of her underwear drawer. There was probably only about £50 in there in total, but it made her feel better knowing it was there. After all it was better than nothing.

She flopped down on the squeaky little bunk bed, enjoying the remaining few minutes of peace and quiet before the kids came home. Then she'd have to put on a brave face and pretend everything was okay, for their sake. But for now, she pulled out her phone and started furiously scouring the internet for a job. Literally anything that paid and didn't actually require her to have qualifications of any kind, it didn't even need to be good money, anything was better than nothing. She quickly realised it really wasn't going to be as easy as Belinda seemed to think.

A week later, and still no further forward she'd reluctantly caved under her Dad's insistence she find some money from somewhere to pull her weight, she'd ended up in the job centre making her first ever claim for job seekers allowance. She was angry with herself for getting to this point, because unlike her father she didn't want to 'get her money's worth' from the benefit system. She just wanted her job back.

She'd sat in the job centre with a group of around twenty people. Half of them looked as shocked to be there as she suspected she did, the other half wore the same look of indifference as Dave had done when she'd left that morning. She still didn't think it had actually sunk in that this was really happening to her. She'd known she couldn't stay at the nail bar forever, and she hadn't wanted to at the time, but now she'd do anything to be back in that dingy little shop.

She'd ended up very briefly- for one night only- filling in on the production line at a chicken processing factory. That had been enough to give her nightmares. She'd never liked cooking with raw chicken when they'd actually been able to afford it. She wasn't quite sure what had possessed her to think she might be able to cope with it on that scale. Desperation perhaps? Then had come two days as a 'Home Energy Adviser'. She'd quickly cottoned on to the fact that she was basically being trained how to confuse elderly people into changing their energy supplier so they were in fact paying more. She might have a total lack of qualifications but she wasn't stupid.

That was how she'd found herself back at the jobcentre again, sitting in front of an older man named Paul as he squinted at his computer screen through his glasses as he tried to find her something else she could try. He couldn't quite manage to hide his grimace as he trawled through looking for something she could actually do.

"Er…. have you thought about maybe joining the entertainment industry?" He asked after a second, more than a little reluctantly.

She looked at him blankly. "What like in the pantomime or something? Ain't it the wrong time of year for that?"

He blushed a little. "Not exactly. There's an opening for a pole dancer though, well quite a few actually."

"Please tell me you're pulling my leg?" She cringed. That would have to be a new low, even for her.

"It's thirty hours a week, I hear the tips are pretty generous too." He was failing miserably at trying to sound positive.

"I am not going to do anything that involves parading around in my underwear on stage in front of a room full of strangers." She put her foot down.

"Then all we're left with is care jobs." Paul shrugged.

"Wiping arses you mean?" She asked, deciding to rephrase it for him. There was no way she had the patience for something like that.

"To put it bluntly Molly you're not qualified for much else." He peered at her over the top of his glasses. "If you wanted to retrain I could-"

She shook her head vigorously. "We've had this conversation. I need something that pays actual money."

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you do need to actually show willing to find yourself a job Molly." She could hear the disapproval in his voice.

"I'm not good with old people." She looked at him pleadingly. "I can't spend all day looking after some old man and then come home and be overrun with kids all night. I'll go insane."

"Ah yes! The kids, so you've got experience with looking after people!" He looked almost triumphant. "This will work perfectly then, look… Care Assistant."

"Paul I've literally just told you that I'm not going nowhere near an old people's home."

"It's not in an old people's home!" He looked so excited to have proved her wrong. "It's a private position in someone's house… care and companionship for a disabled man."

"Yeah but I'm still going to have to wipe his-"

"Nope." Paul interjected quickly. "None of that required as far as I can see. Just some cleaning and help with cooking and that kind of stuff. Pays quite a bit better than minimum wage too. I'll set up the interview."

She could see he wasn't going to give her the option to say no this time. She picked up her bag with a sigh of resignation, called a goodbye over her shoulder and headed for home reluctantly.

Dave had laughed for a solid five minutes at the idea of her getting a job in some fancy house looking after someone. She hadn't thought it was possible for someone to make her doubt herself even more than she already was, but he'd managed it.

"Bloody hell, poor bloke! Imagine! Like it isn't bad enough he's stuck like that anyway, he's going to be stuck there with our Molly!" He'd still been laughing as he'd walked out of the door with the last of their money to go down the pub


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

She'd been fairly certain she was going to throw up at several points on her journey to the interview. She'd known the second she saw the address it was going to be a bad idea, it was clearly going to be some huge posh house and there was no way they'd ever touch someone like her with a barge pole. She wasn't even sure why Paul had been so insistent she go, she hadn't got a chance in hell of actually getting the job and it just seemed like a waste of an afternoon now. Then again, there wasn't anything else she could do other than spend the entire day cleaning up the trail of devastation left behind by the kids.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable in the shirt and jacket that she'd bought from the charity shop. The skirt was at least two sizes too small and felt as though it might cut her in half at any second. The jacket on the other hand was enormous and drowned her, and somehow even after all the perfume she'd sprayed over it still smelt faintly of dust. She was fairly certain that she'd laddered her tights when she'd tripped up the steps too but she hadn't dared to look.

What did people ask in job interviews anyway? She'd realised on the way there that she'd never even had one. She'd just sort of wandered into the nail bar and flirted with the owner to try and find a way in. It had worked then, but she had a feeling it wouldn't work quite so well in this situation. She'd got a horrible feeling they might ask her to do something with this old man to test her. Paul had called her to say they had another carer who came to help with washing etc and as he'd put it it was 'a little unclear' what they were actually expecting her to do. She tried to imagine herself feeding some old man and wiping his mouth and cringed. She really wasn't cut out for this. She considered again for a moment the idea of just turning around and going back home again.

She glanced down at the piece of paper that Paul had scrawled the address on for her. She knew she was in the right neighbourhood because suddenly the street was lined with expensive cars and didn't stink of rubbish like the street she lived on. Her stomach somersaulted again as she climbed up the stone steps to the big red front door that looked like something out of a magazine. She tried to ignore the way the skirt clung to her thighs and seemed to be getting tighter around her stomach the longer she had it on. She'd almost ended up at the bottom of the stairs again she'd jumped so much when the front door opened. A tall slim blonde lady came out of the door dressed in a white nurse's uniform, her jacket slung over her arm.

"Thank you for coming, we'll be in touch." A voice called from inside. Mollys stomach rolled again. Was throwing up on the stairs of someone's house considered a bad first impression?

A woman appeared in the doorway, she was older and not much taller than Molly. Her greying hair perfectly styled and Molly was acutely aware that the trousers and shirt that she was wearing actually fit her as if they'd been made for her, unlike her own second hand clothes. Then again maybe she had made them made especially, she had no idea what people who had money did- it wasn't exactly a situation she'd ever found herself in.

"You must be Miss Dawes?"

"Molly." She stuck her hand out, the one bit of interview advice Dave had given her. Although in hindsight she wasn't sure he was really a reliable source of advice when it came to anything, never mind a job interview.

"Right. Yes. Please come in." The woman withdrew her hand as soon as humanly possible, ushering her inside. Molly could feel her eyes on her, already silently judging her as she followed her inside. "I'm Mary James. Come through, we can talk in the drawing room." She sounded weary, like she'd said those words a thousand times already that day and Molly couldn't help but wonder how many people she was up against that were actually qualified for this job.

Of course they had a drawing room. It was like something out of Downton Abbey inside the house and she had the overwhelming feeling that for once in his life Dave was right and she was spectacularly out of her depth here. Following her though the heavy wooden door into the drawing room which was all floor to ceiling windows and antique furniture didn't do anything to calm her fears. She wondered what an acceptable excuse might be to turn around and run away in the middle of a job interview.

"So you found out about the job via the jobcentre advert? Please do sit down." Mary James pointed to a perfect white sofa that Molly had been afraid to sit down on. Reluctantly she followed the order and Mary sat down so she was opposite her on another matching sofa. Molly scanned the room, not really sure where to look as the woman opposite her shuffled through some papers that had been sitting on the coffee table. There were rows of silver framed photographs dotted around the room but they were too far away for her to make out the faces. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably and heard the unmistakable sound of seams ripping. She looked down, as much as she didn't want too, to find the seam down the right side of her skirt had split open to halfway up her leg. Her face turned scarlet.

"So Miss Dawes. Do you have any experience with quadriplegia?" Of course she'd chosen this exact moment to start talking to her again.

Molly tried to discreetly grasp the edges of her skirt together as she forced herself to smile. She could feel her face burning and she was fairly sure she must be the colour of a tomato. "No."

"Okay." There was a pause as she wrote something down on the papers that were sat on her lap. "Have you been a carer for long?"

"Um…. I've actually never done it before." She was embarrassed at having to admit it. Why was she even there? "But I'm sure I could learn." She added hopefully.

"Do you know what a quadriplegic is?"

Molly faltered a little, she'd never been one for these big fancy words. "It's like when you're stuck in a wheelchair isn't it?" She asked hesitantly.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it." Mrs James grimaced. "And would that bother you?"

"Well, not as much as it would bother him." She regretted it the second the words left her mouth. Where had that even come from? She silently prayed that the stupidly expensive sofa would open up and swallow her whole before Mrs James had a chance to process what she'd said.

Mrs James didn't even flinch or acknowledge what she'd said. She didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. "Can you drive Molly?"

"Yes." Maybe short one word answers was the way forward. That might at least allow her to leave with a little bit of her dignity intact. Although at the rate the rip in her skirt was growing that seemed unlikely.

Mrs James ticked something on her list. "Are you Okay?" She asked, peering at her as she looked back up.

"I'm a little warm, you know coming inside from the cold and that. Do you mind if I take my jacket off?" She swiftly pulled the jacket off and tied it around her waist in hope over covering at least some of the rip in her skirt before Mrs James could answer her.

She looked at Molly uncertainly again before glancing down at her papers again. "How old are you?"

"Twenty five." It was excruciating having to sit through this for the sake of it knowing full well she wasn't going to get the job. She almost wanted to tell her not to waste both of their time any more than they already had.

"And you were in your previous job for nine years?" She frowned at the paper again. "That must be a mistake."

"No." Molly shook her head. "I started when I was sixteen and left school."

"I've got your reference here." She paused to scan over it again. Molly held her breath. She hadn't realised they'd asked for that. "Apparently you're warm and chatty." Mrs James looked back up at her.

"Yeah I paid him."

The poker face that she got in return made her wish she'd learned how to shut her mouth in situations like these. "Can I ask why you're leaving? They obviously liked you in your old job."

"They closed. Believe me it wasn't my choice, I would've been happy to stay."

Mrs James nodded, and she wondered if it was because she didn't feel the need to say anything else or because she would've been more than happy for Molly to stay where she was so they could've avoided this whole situation.

"And what do you want to do with your life?" The question was such a surprise Molly thought she must have heard her wrong. She sat and stared at her blankly. "Do you have aspirations for a career? Could this be a stepping stone for something else for you?"

"I… I haven't really thought about it since I lost my job. I just… Well to be honest I need a job so I can pay the bills." She sounded ridiculous to her own ears. The expression Mrs James wore suggested she agreed.

She put her pen and papers down on the coffee table. "So, tell me Miss Dawes, why I should employ you rather than the previous candidate who had seven years of experience?"

Molly started at her again. "I…. Honestly, I don't know."

"You can't give me a single reason why I should employ you?" Mrs James looked more than a little surprised. Molly didn't blame her, she hadn't exactly done a good job of selling herself. Any slight chance she'd had of getting the job before she got there she'd well and truly trampled all over. She pictured Dave when she got home, he'd be full of 'I told you so's' and 'you let us all down'.

"I mean… Um…. I work hard and I'm sure I could learn quickly." She mumbled. "I'm stronger than I look too, I'm probably strong enough to move your husband around and-"

"My husband?" Mrs James looked confused. "It's not my husband you'd be working with, it's my son."

"Your son?" That had thrown her. She'd been expecting an old man. "Well… I make a mean cup of tea and I can sort of cook." She was vaguely aware of the fact she was babbling away now and Mrs James was giving her a very strange look. "Sorry I'm not trying to suggest that the thing… The um… quadriplegia can be fixed with a cuppa… I just…" She forced herself to stop talking before she managed to dig an even bigger hole for herself.

"You are aware this is only a temporary position for six months?" Mrs James asked, seemingly unphased by her outburst. "That's why the salary is so generous. We wanted to attract the right sort of person."

"Believe me if you'd worked in a chicken processing factory six months in Guantanamo Bay would look attractive." She wanted to hit herself and remind herself to stop talking. She wasn't even sure what was wrong with her, she'd never been so embarrassed in her life.

Mrs James soldiered on obliviously. "My son was injured in a car accident almost three years ago. He requires almost twenty four hour care, most of which is provided by a trained nurse. I've recently returned to work and we need a carer for during the day to help him with food and drink,

keep him company and generally be an extra pair of hands. It's very important that we have someone who understands that responsibility." She looked down at her hands, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from her clothes.

"I can see that." Molly awkwardly started to gather her bag up, trying to work out quite how she was going to get out of there and back home without flashing her underwear at half of London.

"So would you like the job?" Mrs James asked, looking back up.

"What?" Molly was halfway off the sofa and convinced she must have heard her wrong.

"We would need you to start as soon as possible. Is weekly pay okay for you?" She asked. Molly stared at her blankly.

"You want me?" Molly asked incredulously.

"The hours can be quite long 8am until 5pm but maybe longer if I'm at work. There isn't really a lunch break as such but when Mark, his nurse, comes you should get a free half hour or so."

Molly was still struggling to comprehend what was actually happening. She was waiting for Mrs James to start laughing and tell her she was only joking. "But surely you need someone who can do, you know medical things. I can't-"

"Charles has all the medical care we can offer him. What we want is someone upbeat and friendly. His life is… complicated, it's important he-" she broke off, her gaze fixed on a cyclist passing the huge windows. "Let's just say his mental health is as important to me as his physical health. Do you understand?"

"I think so?" She answered slowly. She definitely didn't understand anything that had happened in that room in what felt like hours since she'd walked in. "Do I have to wear a uniform or…."

Mrs James shook her head. "No definitely no uniform. Although maybe you might want to wear something a bit less…. revealing." Molly followed her line of sight to the visible rip in her skirt that the jacket didn't quite cover. She squirmed uncomfortably.

"Sorry is not mine I didn't have anything to wear."

Mrs James had already moved on. "I'll explain what needs to be done when you start. I think that will be easier. I want to warn you though Miss Dawes, Charles is not the easiest person to be around at the moment. This job is going to be a lot more to do with your mental attitude than any professional skills you have. So- I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? You don't want me to meet him and you know, make sure he likes me?" Molly asked, still trying to pull the seams of her skirt back together.

"He's not having a good day today, I think the introductions are probably best left for tomorrow."

Molly jumped up, realising Mrs James was already on her feet and waiting to show her out. She was fairly certain she'd heard the skirt rip even more as she'd stood up but she didn't stop to think about it. "Yes, um. I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow."

"So how messed up is this bloke?" Her Mum asked, sitting down on the sofa, her dinner of beans on toast balanced on her knees. Molly pushed hers around the plate.

"Can't be that bad if they're willing to let our Molly loose on him." Dave laughed. "Are you going to eat that Mol?" He was already taking the plate off her before she could answer.

"I think it'll be great. She'll be working in one of them big houses with a posh family. Are they posh Mol?" Her Mum looked over at her.

By their standards anyone where no one in the family had an ASBO was considered posh. They'd have a fit if they ever met the James family. "I suppose." She shrugged.

"I hope you've practiced your curtsy." Belinda laughed. "Did you actually meet him?"

Molly shook her head. "I'll meet him tomorrow."

"That's weird. You're going to be spending all day with him." Her Mum wasn't helping her nerves about starting her new job.

The doubts had started to creep in the second Mrs James had closed the front door and left her standing on the steps in shock at what had just happened. What if she couldn't understand him? What if she didn't know what he wanted? What if he just sat there staring at her all day and it freaked her out? She was so bad at caring for things, her Nan had once bought her a cactus and even that hadn't survived. She was a little bit worried Mrs James might be there hovering and watching her the whole time. They'd already established she didn't do well under pressure and there was no way she could cope with that every day. Her stomach flipped again in anticipation at what was to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

"This is the annex. We had it done after Charles… Well the accident." Mrs James was walking so quickly Molly almost had to jog to keep up, the expensive and dangerously high heels she wore clicking on the floor. She hadn't once looked back to see if Molly was still with her, there seemed to be an expectation that she would find a way to keep up. "This is the spare room, so that Mark can stay over if need be. We needed someone quite often in the early days." Her mouth twisted into a grimace, presumably at the memory of those early days.

"The keys to the car are there." She pointed to an expensive looking table that sat in the hallway. "I trust the details you gave me were correct, I've added you on the insurance. Mind you he's not desperately keen to go out anywhere at the moment."

"It's a bit chilly out." Molly nodded, feeling like she needed to say something.

Mrs James didn't seem to hear her, well if she did she didn't acknowledge her anyway. "Help yourself to tea and coffee." She gestured at the spotlessly clean kitchen that looked like no one had ever touched it. "I keep the cupboards stocked. The bathroom is through here." It was such a well rehearsed tour she couldn't help but wonder how many other carers there had been before her.

She pushed open the door to an equally spotless bathroom. Molly stared for a moment at the hoist that hung over the bath. A wheel chair sat folded up under the open shower area. The whole room smelt of disinfectant and reminded her of a hospital.

Mrs James pulled the door shut without a word and turned to face her again. "I want to reiterate to you how important it is that Charles has someone with him at all times. One of the carers we had previously left for a few hours to get her haircut and Charles injured himself in her absence." She froze for a moment, as though haunted by the memory.

"I won't go anywhere. Promise." Molly nodded. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had enough spare money to have a haircut that hadn't been Belinda cutting the end of her ponytail off with the kitchen scissors.

"I just want to make it clear. Obviously five or ten minutes… if you need the loo or something, he just can't be left for long periods of time. If you think you'll need any time off I'd appreciate some notice. It's not always easy trying to find cover at short notice." For the first time since she'd opened the door and let her in this morning she stopped and paused to let Molly answer her.

"No, of course not." Molly mumbled. She was starting to have even more doubts about what she was getting herself into.

Mrs James opened the cupboard in the hallway, continuing on her well rehearsed tour. "If Charles is occupied then it would be useful if you could help with some household tasks. Laundry, vacuuming. Everything you need is in here. He may not want you around all the time, you'll have to work out the finer points of this yourselves. Obviously I'd like to think you'll get on, that he'll think of you more as a friend than someone who's paid to be here." Her expression was far from hopeful that this was actually going to happen and Molly felt her stomach somersault again.

"So um… what does he like to do?" She asked nervously. She couldn't imagine they were going to have anything in common but she said a silent prayer that they might find some kind of common ground.

"He watches films, listens to the radio and music. He's got one of those digital things, if you position his hand near it then he can use it himself. He's got some movement in his hands he just can't really grip."

She breathed a sigh of relief. Music and films, there had to be some common ground there somewhere. Although she wasn't too sure what someone like him would have in common with someone like her. She could only hope. She tried to picture herself sitting there watching a film with him or her running the hoover around his bedroom while he sat and listened to the radio. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Do you have any questions?" She suddenly realised Mrs James was waiting for her to acknowledge what she'd said.

"No." Molly shook her head quickly. She didn't think she was actually going to be able to take in any more information. It was like an overload on her brain.

"Let's go and introduce you then. Mark should be done helping him get dressed by now." She glanced at her watch as she walked towards the bedroom door, knocking on the door and waiting. "Are you ready? Miss Dawes is here to meet you."

There was silence from the other side of the door. "Come in Mrs J, he's decent." A voice called from the other side of the sliding doors. Molly struggled place the accent. Australian maybe?

It looked like a hotel room, that was her first thought. A huge double bed up against one wall, a couple of expensive looking arm chairs in one corner and a huge tv on the wall. In the centre of the room was a black wheelchair, a man with dark hair crouched on the floor in front of it adjusting the man's feet on the footrests. Her heart was in her mouth as the man sitting in the wheelchair looked up at her from underneath his curly hair which looked like it desperately needed cutting. His eyes met hers for a moment, then he made a groaning noise like nothing she'd ever heard before.

"Charles, stop it!" Mrs James snapped. Molly felt the panic rising in her again. There was no way she could do this, what had she been thinking? What was she going to say to Mrs James to explain the fact she hadn't even lasted an hour?

He didn't even look at his mother, making another noise that sounded vaguely like someone might have been strangling him. Molly shifted uncomfortably, Mrs James seemed to be frozen to the spot as she glared furiously at her son.

"Charles please!" Mrs James sounded vaguely hysterical. "Please don't do this." He carried on staring at Molly as though he was waiting for her to do something.

"I-I'm Molly." She said, her voice sounded high and false, highlighting exactly how nervous she was. She took a half step towards him.

She nearly fell over when his entire face changed and his head straightened. He gazed at her steadily with what looked like maybe the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. "Good morning Miss Dawes, I hear you're going to be my latest minder."

She'd forgotten all about the nurse who was fiddling with the foot rests until he stood up and spoke. "You're a very bad man Mr James." He laughed, shaking his head. He walked over to Molly and held out a hand which she limply shook, still trying to work out what had actually just happened. "Sorry about that, you'll get used to it. His bark is worse than his bite most of the time."

Mrs James was running the pendant of her necklace backwards and forwards along the chain under her chin. She seemed to have aged by about ten years in the time since she'd let Molly in. Her face was stuck in a rigid grimace. "I'll leave you to get on. Mark will talk you through all of the equipment and Charles' routine."

"I am here mother. You don't need to talk over me. My brain still works, for the moment at least."

"Yes well if you're going to be like this Charles I think it's for the best that Miss Dawes does talk directly to Mark." She didn't look at him as she spoke, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor a few feet in front of her. "I'm working from home today so I'll pop in again at lunch time."

"Okay." She choked.

Mrs James nodded and then disappeared. There was a moment of silence as they all listened to the sound of her heels clicking back down the hallway.

Mark eventually broke the silence much to her relief. "Right I'll go and talk Miss Dawes through your medications. Do you want some music on? Tv?" He asked Charles.

"Can you put the news on please?"

"Sure thing." Mark nodded, grabbing the remote from the table behind him. The tv flicked on and the sound filled the room. Mark nodded towards the door and she took that as he cue to follow him into the kitchen. She needed ten minutes away from the scrutinising gaze of Charles James to let her heart rate settle back down to normal.

They stood in the kitchen that was easily double the size of the one they had at home despite the fact this was only the annex. "Mrs J tells me you've not got much experience with this sort of thing?" Mark asked, leaning against the pristine marble countertop. She was too afraid to touch anything. It all looked so expensive and shiny.

"None actually." She somehow felt embarrassed even though they'd actually chosen her for the job in spite of it and it wasn't even like she'd lied about it or anything.

"Okay." He nodded, reaching into the cupboard above his head and pulling out a thick red ring binder. He dropped it on the countertop in front of her noisily. "This will tell you everything you need to know, and probably a lot more that you don't really need to worry about. Routines, medications, emergency numbers etc etc. If you get a spare moment, which I'm guessing you will, I'd suggest you try and read it."

He pulled a small key off his key ring while Molly stared at the folder in horror. It was like being back at school all over again but only worse because this time she was responsible for another person. She turned her attention back to Mark who was now unlocking a small white cupboard that she hadn't noticed previously.

"You shouldn't need to worry about this mostly, but you should know where everything is just incase. There's a list in here of what he has daily, anything extra you give him you put here, although at this point you probably ought to run anything past Mrs James."

She stared at him for a moment. "I didn't realise I was going to have to give him drugs and stuff." She mumbled. She was sure she'd asked this in the interview and been told she wouldn't have to do anything like this. That horrible sick feeling in her stomach was back with vengeance as she looked at the cupboard which seemed to contain a full pharmacy.

"It's not hard." Mark told her reassuringly, closing the cupboard and locking it again. He held a spare key out to her. "He knows mostly what he needs he just might need a bit of help actually getting them down. Or you can crush them up and put them in a drink. You'll work out between the two of you what is going to be easiest for you. You're not to give that spare key to anyone, not even Charles or Mrs James."

She looked at him nervously. She didn't think she'd ever seen so many drugs in her life and the idea that they were expecting her to be responsible for administering them was terrifying. "It's a lot to remember."

"It's all written down." He gave her one of those reassuring smiles and patted the huge binder of information that was sitting beside him. "My mobile number is in there. Call me if you need to but when I'm not here I'm studying so I'd rather not be getting called constantly. But until you're confident feel free."

Molly wondered if her face was clearly showing the rising level of panic she was feeling. "You're leaving?" She asked nervously. "What if he like needs the toilet or something? I don't think I could lift him and…"

"Relax." Mark laughed. "I'll be back at lunch time to sort his catheter and everything out. You're not here for the physical stuff."

"Well why I am here then?" She asked. She really wasn't sure at this point. She was obviously far from qualified for whatever it was they were expecting her to do.

There was a long pause in which Mark seemed to be searching for some words. "To cheer him up? He's a bit… how do I put this? Cranky? I mean understandable given the circumstances but he's not always the easiest person to be around. You're going to have to have a bit of a thick skin, that whole thing this morning was his way of getting you off balance."

"So that's why the pay is so good." It was finally all starting to make sense in her mind now.

"You know what they say, no such thing as a free lunch!" He winked and clapped her on the shoulder. "He's alright really, you don't have to pussyfoot around him. I like him!" The way he said it made it sound as though he was the only person in the world who did.

She awkwardly followed him back into the living room where Charles was sitting, his back to them. "That's me done mate, do you want anything before I go?"

"No, thanks Mark."

"I'll leave you in the capable hands off Miss Dawes here then! See you at lunch time." Molly watched him as he put on his jacket with a rising sense of panic. He was actually going to leave her there on her own with him. What was she supposed to do or say to fill the long hours that stretched ahead of them before lunchtime. Mark paused at the back door. "Have fun you two!" He winked, and then disappeared. Molly stared at the door for a moment willing him to come back.

Charles sat with his back to her, continuing to stare out of the window as if she wasn't there. She couldn't see his face under the floppy unkempt hair and the beard that was starting to grow. "Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?" She asked awkwardly after the silence became too much.

He snorted with laughter. "I wondered how long it would take before you wanted to show off your tea making skills. No, no thank you."

"Well… can I get you anything?" She asked, shifting on the spot uncomfortably. The temptation she was feeling to run out of the door after Mark was unbelievable. "No… well then, I'll go do some cleaning then I suppose." She mumbled, not that he was listening to her anyway.

The annexe was absolutely spotless she'd realised as soon as she started trying to clean. There literally wasn't even a spec of dust in the place. She'd pushed the the hoover around anyway, then started to dust just because she needed something to do other than sit and stare at the walls while he studiously ignored her.

She'd been in the bedroom dusting when she'd spotted the photos she hadn't noticed before. They were all in delicate silver frames, much the same as the ones in the drawing room when she'd sat and had her interview with Mrs James. She couldn't help but go and have a look, she had to admit she was more than a little bit curious about the whole situation.

There was a tall man, dressed in an army uniform grinning into the camera, his arm around Mrs James. She looked so proud, so happy. She glanced around at the other photos. The same man grinned out of the frame at her, still in an army uniform but this time he looked to be in a desert somewhere. Another photo of him on a beach with his arm around some beautiful blonde woman. It took her a moment to realise that it was him. He looked so different, so happy.

"Afghanistan. Three years ago." His voice behind her was like someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water over her. She fumbled with the duster to try and look like she was doing her job rather than snooping through his photos.

"I was just-" She gulped, turning to face him.

"You were just looking at my photos." He finished the sentence for her, he looked far from impressed. "You were just thinking about how awful it must be to have lived like that and then end up stuck like this."

"No." She could feel her cheeks turning scarlet under his gaze.

"If you find yourself feeling curious again my mother put the rest of the photos in the second drawer down on the right hand side. That should save you some time snooping around."

"I wasn't, I swear." She argued weakly. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt this uncomfortable and embarrassed in her life.

"Here's what I know about you Miss Dawes." The way he was talking to her made her feel like a naughty child at school all over again. "My mother says your chatty. So how about we strike up a deal whereby you're very un-chatty around me?"

She felt her cheeks darken again. "Fine." She managed to force the words out. "If you need anything I'll be in the kitchen."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

Three weeks had passed, and with them they'd developed their own sort of strange and uncomfortable routine. She'd been ready to quit two days in, then an argument with Dave and some quiet begging from her mother had made her realise she didn't really have a lot of choice in the matter. The money was stupidly good, far more than she'd ever manage to get doing anything else, and it was only for six months. That was the most important part that she had to keep reminding herself of. She wondered if it would be bad if she bought a calendar and crossed off the days like some kind of countdown. It might help her keep her sanity if nothing else.

She'd arrive at 8am every morning, letting herself in with the key Mrs James had given her to the annexe. She'd call out to Mark that she was there, Charles would studiously ignore her like she might disappear if he tried hard enough. Then after Mark had gone she'd put on the tv or the radio, whichever he asked for that day, and busy herself trying to find some kind of domestic task to occupy herself. She'd washed clothes and towels that weren't even dirty, tried out all of the fancy attachments for the vacuum and had even contemplated ironing the tea towels at one point just for something to do.

Time always seemed to stand still in the house, possibly because she was watching the clock constantly. Every fifteen minutes she would dutifully go and stick her head around the door to see if he needed anything, as instructed by Mrs James, which was either met with a sarcastic and sometimes downright rude answer, or most of the time he just totally ignored her. She was slowly starting to get used to the fact that he preferred to sit and stare out of the window at the walls that enclosed the garden than try and make any kind of conversation with her. She'd quickly realised the image that she'd had of the two of them being friends and laughing at the tv together was about as far from the reality as she could get.

Lunchtime, she'd decided was both her favourite and most hated part of the day. In one respect she looked forward to it because first of all it meant that Mark was back, and she could actually make conversation with another human being for a few minutes. It also meant that she was halfway through her day, which always came as a great relief. The downside to lunchtime was that it brought with it her least favourite task out of all of them. Feeding him. He'd got some movement in his hands, but not enough grip or strength to hold a fork, which meant she had to feed him each and every mouthful- she could see it on his face that he hated it just as much as she did. There was something that just seemed so wrong about feeding a grown man like he was a small child. Her embarrassment and awkwardness meant that she'd chatted to him nervously to begin with, until he'd rather abruptly told her to shut up. Now it was something she did in an awkward and somewhat tense silence while he refused to even look at her.

After lunch she'd put on a film or something for him, which he never invited her to watch with him so she'd leave him to it and awkwardly retreat back to the kitchen, which had quickly become her place of safety. She'd brought in a magazine a couple of times, and then she'd felt guilty about how much they were paying her and she wasn't even doing anything. That was the trouble though, she hadn't got a clue what she was supposed to do all day if he wouldn't even look at her.

At the end of the day Mrs James often popped in, Molly would hear the telltale sound of her heels clicking on the hallway floor. She thought maybe to start with a she was coming down to check on her, to make sure she was actually doing her job, but she'd quickly realised it was more to try and force her son into having a conversation with her. She quite often didn't look at Molly- she was starting to wonder if maybe she was invisible to the entire James family- she'd just ask if everything was okay, to which the only acceptable answer seemed to be yes and then she'd continue through to find Charles. Their conversations were usually short, and somewhat angry on Charles' part. They usually ended up arguing about Mrs James' suggestion that maybe he should get out of the house and do something. There was always some sort of outing she suggested, or a friend who'd asked after him and wanted to come to visit. He always declined instantly, and sometimes rather rudely, at which point Mrs James would start running her necklace back and forth along the chain again before leaving rather quickly.

She'd met Mr James a couple of times too, although he tended to come to see his son far less frequently. She tended to pass him on his way back home as she was leaving at 5pm. He looked exactly how she pictured Charles might look in thirty years time, only he didn't look at her with the same bitter resentment his son did. He'd come into the annexe a couple of nights a week, just as she was leaving, and sit beside Charles and watch the news. She'd heard him a few times making comments about whatever was on the news this time and discussing where the next war was going to break out- she assumed from the way he spoke he'd probably been in the army too.

She'd got to study Charles James quite closely in those first few weeks, albeit from a distance and when she knew he wasn't likely to catch her staring at him. One thing that she had noticed was that he seemed to be determined to look nothing like the army Captain in the photos Mrs James had littered the place with. His curly hair flopped messily around his face, the stubble that darkened his jaw was growing closer and closer to an actual beard every day. His brown eyes were lined with exhaustion, or perhaps it was the constant discomfort that she had sometimes heard him talking to Mark about. Either way he had the look of a man who was a few steps removed from the world around him. She couldn't help but wonder sometimes if it was a defence mechanism that allowed him to cope with the way his life had turned out.

She wanted to feel sorry for him, she did. Sometimes when she'd catch him staring out of the window as the rain ran down the glass she thought he might be the saddest person she'd ever seen. There was something haunting about the look on his face, it was almost like grief for the life he should've had. As the days went by she'd quickly realised that it wasn't just the loss of mobility and being stuck in that chair, but it was the endless stream of indignities, health problems and discomfort that went with it that had caused that expression to become a permanent fixture on his face. She'd decided that if she was in his position she'd probably be pretty miserable too.

But the problem was, every time she'd started to feel sorry for him, she'd come in and he'd be in the most vile of moods. Then she struggled to remind herself why she'd ever felt sorry for him in the first place. It seemed as though everything she said he had a sharp comeback for. She'd asked him if he was warm enough and he'd retorted that he was quite capable of speaking if he needed a blanket, he just chose not to speak to her because he found her irritating. She'd asked if the hoover was too noisy- she hadn't wanted to disturb him while he was watching the tv- and he'd asked if she'd found a way to make it run silently. He seemed to have found a way to twist everything she did or said to make her look stupid and she was really starting to hate him for it. Despite her efforts to keep her face neutral and simply leave the room when he did things like that she was sure he must have at least started to realise that being stuck there with him every day felt like a life sentence for a crime she hadn't committed.

She'd been standing there one morning, mixing together one of the high calorie drinks Mrs James had told her she needed to force him to drink after he'd lost weight, and she heard voices in the hall. The house was usually as silent as a morgue, so her ears strained to hear what was going on. She recognised Mrs James' voice, and then a man that she didn't recognise. She was still standing there, the fork in her hand had stilled as her ears strained to listen, when the door to the annexe opened and Mrs James walked in. Molly started furiously mixing the drink together again in an attempt to look busy, colour flooding her cheeks at the thought of being caught. She allowed herself to peer up to get a look at the man who followed Mrs James in.

"Have you made that with full fat milk?" Mrs James asked, pausing in the kitchen door way.

"Yes. It's the strawberry one." Molly nodded, biting her lip. The tall man who stood behind Mrs James in the doorway was eyeing her curiously.

"Good." Mrs James nodded, it took Molly a minute to realise that she looked nervous. "Well, Charles' friend Elvis has come to visit so it might be best if you-"

"I've got plenty to be doing in here." Molly breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to suffer through his company for a couple of hours at least. She screwed the lid shut on the beaker and handed it to Mrs James. "Would you like me to make you some tea or coffee?" She asked, looking at their guest. She desperately wanted to ask if Elvis was really his name or if it was some sort of weird nickname.

He looked as surprised as Mrs James did. "Tea would be great, thanks."

"I'll bring it through." Molly smiled, turning to the kettle. At least this gave her something to do for a couple of minutes. Mrs James stayed where she was, frozen to the spot, as Elvis walked through to the living room.

"Elvis was his best friend." She said quietly, staring out of the window. Molly wasn't sure if she was actually talking to her or not as she carried on making the tea. She guessed from how tense Mrs James looked that Charles probably didn't get many visitors. "They did a lot of their training together. Did I tell you Charles was in the army?" She turned to look at Molly.

Molly nodded, pouring the milk into the cup of tea she'd made. "I saw the photos."

"Things were difficult after the accident. Charles was supposed to be going out to Afghanistan a couple of days after it happened, Elvis too. Elvis still got to go and Charles was stuck her confined to a hospital bed for months on end. They haven't spoken to each other for a long time. I was surprised when Elvis called." Mrs James mumbled. "I suppose he looks at Elvis and sees what he thinks his life should've turned out like."

"It must be difficult." Molly agreed. She was almost starting to feel sorry for him again now.

"I- I think I'll just leave them too it." Mrs James said uncertainly. "You'll call me, if you need me?"

"Yeah, of course." Molly agreed, fishing the tea bag out of the mug.

"Thank you Miss Dawes." Mrs James said softly, hesitating in the doorway for a moment.

"You can call me Molly." She smiled, the mug of tea in her hand as she braced herself to go into the living room.

"Call me if anything… well, you know. Thanks Molly." Mrs James disappeared back up the hallway into the main house.

She picked up the beaker with drink she'd been making Charles in. Mrs James had clearly forgotten that she'd taken it off her in the first place. She had a feeling that as far as Mrs James was concerned this visit was a momentous occasion. They both stopped talking and turned to look at her as she walked in.

"Sorry to interrupt, I'm just bringing your drinks." She smiled awkwardly, bracing herself for the scathing remark that she was sure was about to come. She bent to put the cup of tea on the coffee table, before putting the beaker into the cup holder on Charles' wheelchair, positioning the straw so he would only need to turn his head to get to it.

"So… you look… well." Elvis looked uncomfortable. "New chair to, very high tec." Molly cringed.

"Molly, would you mind putting another log on the fire? I don't want it to go out." Charles asked, ignoring Elvis entirely.

"I'll go and get some." She nodded, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. It was the first time he'd ever actually called her by her name. She briefly wondered what it meant.

"So what've you been up to then Charlie? It's been a while." She heard his friend ask.

"Funnily enough Elvis, not a lot." Came the scathing reply that she had known was coming. "What are you doing here anyway?" She closed the door behind her and disappeared outside to get some logs, she felt a bit guilty eavesdropping.

She'd stayed out there for ages, carefully selecting each piece of wood, trying to work out how long she needed to stay out there for them to have finished talking. There was obviously a purpose to Elvis' visit, and she had a horrible feeling that whatever it was probably wasn't going to go down well.

Elvis was just coming back into the kitchen as she reluctantly went back inside. "Thanks for the tea.. I think it's probably best if I go now."

"Okay." She nodded, taking his empty mug from him. He'd barely been there fifteen minutes but she wasn't going to say anything, it really wasn't her place.

"I know what you're thinking." Elvis paused in the doorway. "Mrs James has been trying to get me to come and see him for ages, but what am I supposed to say to him? Sorry Charlie it sucks that your whole life went to shit and you're stuck here like this, but everything turned out great for me."

"I didn't say anything." Molly raised an eyebrow at him, putting the mug in the sink.

"I tried you know, we all did, after…." he frowned. "He just pushed us all away, Rebecca in particular. He made it very clear he didn't want any of us around. What were we supposed to do?"

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. "It's really none of my business." She said eventually, scrubbing the mug to within an inch of its life just to give herself something to do other than have this awkward conversation.

"You can only help someone who actually wants to be helped." Elvis shrugged. "Thanks for the tea. I can show myself out." He pulled his coat on and disappeared by the time she looked up.

She waited five minutes before she went back through into the other room. "Do you want me to make some-" She looked around the room and then started to panic as she realised he wasn't in there. Then she heard the crash from the bedroom. She ran through, her heart in her mouth as she remembered Mrs James telling her about him hurting himself when he'd been left alone too long. Please don't let him have hurt himself.

She skidded to a stop in the doorway, much to her relief he was still upright in his chair. He had a walking stick in his left hand, gripping the end of it as tightly as he could manage. Then she realised what the noise she'd heard was. All of the photo frames that had been on the side were now laying on the floor, smashed. Shards of glass littered the floor and the expensive frames were broken and mangled. His chair slowly turned so he was facing her, the wheels crunching on the broken glass. She spotted a photo of him and Elvis on the floor, amongst the broken glass, both of them in army uniform and grinning at the camera. He glared at her as he faced her, daring her to offer him some kind of sympathy.

"Can that thing get a puncture?" She asked, conscious of all the splinters of glass under the wheels. "Because I'm not sure I'd even know where to start."

His eyes widened, and she braced herself for his response. Much to her surprise the faintest smile crossed his face.

"Look stay here and I'll go and get the hoover!" She ordered. She heard the walking stick drop to the floor as she left the room, she couldn't be sure but she thought she might've heard him say sorry.

If she'd thought what had happened the previous day might help to thaw the icy relations between her and Charles then she'd been sorely mistaken. The look Mark gave her as she walked in the next day, followed by his whispered warning that it wasn't going to be a good day as he ducked out of the door, had her stomach churning in anticipation. She busied herself with her chores, needing something to do. It was a miserable day outside, the rain lashing against the windows- even she felt a bit miserable, she couldn't really blame him for having a bad day.

The shattered remains of the photographs were stacked carefully on the kitchen counter, where she'd left them the previous day. She laid them out and quietly tried to work out how she was going to piece them back together. She'd been staring at them for ten minutes when the quiet hum of the wheelchair alerted her to his presence.

He was watching her from the doorway, well maybe glaring at her might've been a more accurate description. There were dark shadows under his eyes that made her wonder how much he'd actually slept last night. Mark had told her that he often didn't sleep much, she couldn't imagine what it was like to be stuck there all night, unable to get out of bed or even move with nothing but dark thoughts to keep you company.

"I thought I'd see if I could fix some of these." She forced herself to try and sound cheerful, holding up the one of him with his parents that she'd sort of managed to stick back together.

"Who told you to?" He glared at her, his voice icy.

"Well I just thought-"

"You thought you knew what was best for me." He cut her off.

"I-" she stuttered.

"You know what Molly, it would be nice if just for once someone would listen to what I wanted. It wasn't an accident, me smashing those pictures. I did it because I don't want to have to keep looking at them every bloody day!" He spat back at her angrily.

She hurriedly started to gather the photos back up to put them away. "I'm sorry I didn't think-"

"You thought you knew what was best for me. Just like everyone always thinks they know best. Let's put photos up everywhere and give the poor invalid something to look at. Have you got any idea what it's like to be stuck in bed all day and not be able to move, with all these bloody photos staring back at you to remind you what your life should've been like? I don't want those pictures there staring at me next time I'm stuck in bed until someone bloody comes and gets me! Is that too difficult for you to wrap your head around?" She'd never seen him so angry.

"I just thought that one day you might feel-"

"Oh Christ! Spare me the psychological therapy! Go and read your bloody gossip magazines or whatever it is you do when you're not making tea!" He turned around and started back down the hallway.

"You don't have to be such a massive…" she struggled to find a word for it. "Cockwomble." She shouted after him.

There was a long pause, he stopped and then started to reverse back towards her. He turned slowly to face her, her heart was pounding in her chest. "What?"

"Your friend got the shitty treatment, fine. He probably deserved it. But I'm just here trying to do my job because my parents are shit and I need to earn the money to bail them out, so if you could be a bit less of an ass and stop making my life as awful as you make everyone else's then that would be great."

He paused again for a long moment, long enough for her to realise what she'd just said. She'd got no idea what she'd been thinking. "And what if I told you I don't want you here?" He asked, his voice level.

"I'm employed by your mother. Unless she tells me to leave I'm staying. Not because I like you or particularly care about you but because I need the money."

He looked at her in astonishment for a moment. "Fair enough." He said slowly. "Just put the photos back in the drawer." Then with the low hum of his wheelchair he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

Her parents dependence on her income, coupled with the fact that she regularly told them just how much she hated going to that house every single day, meant that she'd earned a newfound level of respect at home. It didn't in fact translate to much in real life, Dave had stopped insulting her at every available opportunity and her Mum usually made her a cup of tea when she came home and tried to keep the kids out of her way. It was a low bar, but she'd take it.

She'd had a particularly awful day, the day after he'd smashed all the photo frames, and the sight of her Mum standing there with a cup of tea for her when she walked through the door after another long day had been enough for her to break down in tears, the tears that she'd been holding back at work most of the day after one of Mrs James' endless lectures.

She should've known that as far as Mrs James was concerned the smashing of the photo frames would be considered some kind of earth shattering event. The woman seemed to have decided that Molly was the most stupid and irresponsible person on the planet, so much that even Molly was questioning why she continued to employ her. She obviously didn't think she could be trusted to care for her son.

She'd been waiting for her in the annexe when she got into work, the remains of the photos had somehow found the way back out of the drawer where she'd placed them and onto the kitchen counter again, in a move that was sure to irritate Charles even more. She'd already been dreading being the one he was going to take his bad mood out on all day.

Then Mrs James had launched into a hundred and one questions before she could even get her coat off. She'd wanted to know exactly how long Molly had left Charles on his own, what had prompted it, how quickly had she cleaned the mess up… the list of questions had seemed never ending. She hadn't outright criticised Molly for what had happened at all, but it was that look of slight disapproval and the constant muttering under her breath as Molly tried to explain what had happened that gave her feelings away. It had all made sense after she'd had a moan to Mark when he'd come in at lunchtime and he'd explained that Mrs James was a magistrate.

She'd made some _suggestions_. She'd said that maybe it would be a good idea if Molly didn't leave him alone for as long next time, and it took everything Molly had to bite her tongue and not point out that it was Mrs James who had suggested she give him some space to talk to his friend. She'd merely been following orders. She'd also _suggested_ that next time Molly might like to make sure things weren't positioned close enough to the edge that they could be accidentally knocked on the floor. She didn't seem to be capable of believing that her son had actually done this on purpose. Molly found herself wondering if Mrs James had actually even tried to talk to her son about what had happened. She somehow doubted it. She was quickly learning that while Mrs James was very interfering in her son's life, that interference didn't actually extend as far as wanting to have any kind of interaction with him.

Somehow, after that lecture that had made her feel like a complete idiot, Mrs James had managed to time her visits into the annexe perfectly so that she always walked in when Molly was looking her most idiotic. She'd walk in just as she'd dropped something on the floor, or was struggling to work the stupidly expensive cooker. The looks of disdain she was shooting in Molly's direction were becoming make and more obvious each day. Weirdly, her attitude had got under Molly's skin even more than the downright rudeness her son showed her everyday.

Molly had quickly learned that when Mrs James said _'I've got some paperwork that needs sorting out.'_ It was actually code for the fact her son was being particularly vile that day, or just doing something that she didn't quite know how to deal with. At which point she'd disappear back up the hallway into the main house quicker than Usain Bolt and leave Molly there to bear the brunt of his foul mood. It was just another of the many reasons she hated going in there every day.

"Why are you trying to sneak carrots onto the fork?" His voice snapped her back into the real world. She was sitting beside him, feeding him his dinner while they both stared at the news to avoid having to look at or interact with each other. Apparently somewhere along the line she'd completely zoned out and she was amazed that she'd actually managed to carry on with what she was doing for this long without him noticing how little attention she was paying.

"I didn't?" She glanced down at the plate, she wasn't going to get away with this.

"You know I'm not blind right? I just watched you mash them up and then try and cover them up with gravy." He was giving her one of those looks again that made her feel like a naughty child.

Molly bit her lip nervously. Mrs James had been more than a little insistent when she'd come in earlier that he was to have at least three vegetables with his lunch, even though he'd been adamant he didn't want any, leaving Molly stuck in the middle of them yet again. What he was eating seemed to be another one of those things that Mrs James was borderline obsessive over- every meal that she instructed Molly to make for him seemed to be nutritionally balanced to within an inch of its life.

"Why are you trying to sneak carrots into me?" He was insistent, and she could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"I'm not." She sighed.

"So there are no carrots in this, at all?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She couldn't help but think this might actually be the most she'd seen him care about anything in the entire time she had been there.

She glanced down at the obvious orange chunks of carrot that were still visible even after she'd drowned them in gravy. "I thought they might be good for you?" She tried. She probably should've just told him his mother had insisted and let him argue with her about it, but she had a feeling that Mrs James would turn it back around on her anyway.

"So you're saying you think a teaspoon of carrot will improve my quality of life?" He was giving her that look again, her cheeks flushed scarlet. He was right, it sounded very stupid when put like that, but she'd quickly learned that where he was concerned showing any kind of weakness was a bad thing.

"I see your point." She said slowly, careful to keep her voice even. "I won't do it again."

Out of nowhere he burst out laughing, the last thing she'd expected him to do. She started at him like he'd grown another head.

"For Christ's sake." He laughed. "What else have you been sneaking into my food while I've not been looking? Next you'll be telling me to open my mouth for the train!"

She kept a perfectly straight face, maybe this was her turn to get a little payback on him. "Actually, I only deal with Mr Fork thank you." She told him matter of factly, trying to stop herself laughing. This was just reminding her of the conversations she'd had with her younger siblings as they'd grown up and she'd been trying to feed them whatever Belinda had cobbled together that night. She'd perfected the art of Mr Fork over the years.

"Did my mother put you up to this?" She could see he was having a hard time stopping himself laughing, she couldn't even tell if he was laughing with her or at her. Either had to be better than glaring at her though.

"No… look, I wasn't thinking okay? I'm sorry." She mumbled, putting the fork down on the plate. She had a feeling he probably wasn't going to trust her to feed him anymore.

"You? Not thinking. That's a first." He retorted sarcastically.

"I'll take the bloody carrots off if they offend you so much." She sighed, getting up and taking the plate with her.

"It's not the carrots it's having them snuck into my food by a mad woman!" He called after her. "I'm not hungry anyway, I'd ask for a cup of tea but I'm not convinced you won't try and hide a courgette in it somewhere." She could hear him chuckling to himself as he headed off into his bedroom.

Mark had turned up as she was finishing clearing away the last of the dinner, and binning the offending carrots. "He's in a good mood today." He commented, stepping around her to get to the bin.

"Is he?" She didn't look up and carried on rummaging in her bag to try and find her sandwich. She wasn't sure that Charles James was actually capable of being in a good mood, so what Mark meant was he was probably in a slightly less terrible mood than normal.

"He did say you were trying to poison him, but I think he said it in a good way- unless there's something you want to tell me?" He joked, leaning against the counter beside her.

"Yeah well, give me a bit more time." She muttered under her breath, glancing up at Mark who was grinning at her like he'd just won the lottery or something.

"He's a lot chattier too! We had weeks where he'd hardly say a word to any of us and now he's actually making conversation." Mark continued.

"Your definition of chatty can't be the same as mine if you think he's chatty." She snorted.

"Well he asked me about my weekend, that's something that's not happened before." He shrugged. "And Mrs J told me she heard you two laughing together. It's really nice that you're getting on."

"He was laughing at me." Molly protested. "He keeps using all these fancy words and I ain't got a bloody clue what he's going on about most of the time."

"Trust me she doesn't care about that. It's been a long time since he's laughed with or at anyone."

He was probably right when she thought about it. They seemed to have found a slightly more comfortable way of being around each other all day. It did mainly consist of him being rude and condescending and her getting sarcastic in response. Then he'd give her one of these stern looks he seemed to have perfected, and start lecturing her on doing her job. It was a bit forced at times, but it was better than when he'd just been totally ignoring her. It made the days a little more tolerable.

She did wonder if maybe it had more to do with the fact that everyone else had a tendency to tiptoe around him. He'd seemed almost relieved when she answered him back and told him he was wrong.

"Can you just make sure you're the butt of some more of his jokes?" Mark laughed. "I like seeing him happier and makes me job a lot nicer too!"

"I'm pretty sure he'll find something to mock me for." She sighed, folding the tea towel and hanging it from the front of the cooker. She thought back to the way he'd mocked her that morning after she'd had to run all the way to work because she was running late. He'd found her lack of fitness absolutely hilarious- she'd been gasping for air like a puffer fish- as he'd been quick to point out. She'd complained and told him he was rude at the time, but secretly she'd just been happy to see him smiling.

It was later that afternoon when he was sitting there watching the news, she'd gone to take him a drink and he'd asked her to stay and watch with him. She'd been convinced she must have heard him wrong, or maybe that he was only trying to get her to sit down so he could mock her for something else. She'd sat there almost on the edge of the sofa, waiting for the punchline to come, or for him to just start laughing at her but it hadn't. Instead she'd slowly relaxed, and stopped worrying that Mrs James might come in and accuse her of slacking, and watched.

"So then Molly, what do you do when you're not here pretending to vacuum and supplying me with endless cups of tea?" He'd turned to look at her while she'd been zoned out staring at the tv. The sound of his voice made her jump.

"You want to know what I do when I'm not at work?" She asked, surprised.

"I think you'll find it was your idea that we get to know each other." He raised an eyebrow at her. The way he said it she wasn't entirely sure if he actually wanted to know or if he was just looking for another opportunity to make fun of her.

"Why do you want to know all of a sudden?" She frowned, crossing her arms. She wasn't sure what he was trying to get at, but there had to be a reason for his sudden interest she was sure.

"Oh for Christ's sake, it's hardly a secret is it!" A look of irritation crossed his face. "I just thought if we're going to be stuck here together then we might as well talk to each other."

She stared at him for a moment. He'd done a complete 180 since she'd first started, when he'd been adamant he wanted nothing to do with her. She wondered if it would be rude if she asked if he was feeling okay. "I um… I don't do a lot. I help my mum with the kids, tidy up at home. The usual." She shrugged.

"What about hobbies? Have you travelled? What do you want to do with your life Dawes- you can't be planning to spend the rest of your life looking after people like me?" He persisted.

"Look I don't do anything!" She snapped. "I come here, I go home and look after the kids then I go to sleep and get up the next day and start all over again. I've never been outside of bloody London never mind going abroad and I honestly haven't got a clue what I'm going to do with my life, which I know, makes me a bit of a disaster really."

"Okay then…" he answered, somewhat sarcastically. "I'm sorry I asked." And then he'd quickly decided the conversation was over and gone back to watching the tv.

She'd had to take him to the hospital for an appointment on Friday, she was thankful that Mrs James had forgotten to tell her or she would've spent the entire week worrying about it. She could drive, supposedly, but it was a bit like when she'd learned to swim- she'd learned how to do it, then quickly decided that she hated it and never wanted to do it again. She couldn't remember when the last time she'd actually tried to drive was. She was no doubt that Charles might have something to say about her driving skills, or rather lack of.

She'd rifled through the huge stack of folders, following his instructions until she came to the blue one labeled appointments. She dug the letter out, silently hoping that he'd got confused and got the day wrong and she wasn't actually going to have to drive him across London and take him to a hospital appointment.

"Come on then Dawes let's go!" He ordered. The more he'd started talking to her the more she could see that the bossy army captain was still very much in there. He definitely enjoyed getting to order her around.

"Don't we need to wait for your Mum?" She frowned.

"Why?" He sounded surprised. Molly wasn't about to tell him that she'd just assumed that as his Mum was such a control freak that this would be another aspect of his life she'd want to oversee. "She used to but we've got an agreement that she doesn't come now." His mouth set in a grim line.

"What about Mark?" She wondered if her face was starting to show the panic she was feeling inside. The idea of being solely responsible for him somewhere outside of the annexe, which felt like a safe little bubble, was absolutely terrifying.

"What's wrong Dawes?" He asked, and for a moment she could've been convinced that he almost sounded as though he cared.

"Nothing." She tried to shake the feeling of anxiety off. "I just thought it might be better to have someone with us, the first time at least."

"Of course Mark is coming. I'm not sure I'm entirely ready to put my entire life in your hands yet." He joked. "And besides I thought it might help stop you freaking out quite so much if he came with us."

She breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes coming to rest of a splodge of soup on his trousers that she must have spilled down him earlier. Without even thinking she grabbed the sponge from beside the kitchen sink and tried to wipe it off him, leaving a huge wet patch on the crotch of his trousers.

"What are you trying to do to me Dawes? Look at the state of me." He sounded annoyed, but she was sure she could see the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

"Sorry. I'll um…" She glanced around. "I'll be right back." She was sure she had seen a hair dryer somewhere when she'd been cleaning the bathroom. She returned a few seconds later, victorious, and plugged the hairdryer in. He didn't say anything, just raising an eyebrow at her as she pointed it directly at the wet patch she'd created. She couldn't quite manage to arrange her face into something that resembled a smile. She was still too nervous.

"Lighten up Dawes." He smiled, looking at her in amusement when she turned the hairdryer off. "What's the worst that's going to happen? I end up in a wheelchair?" She couldn't help but laugh, although she was rather surprised at the fact he was actually trying to make her feel better.

She'd stalled at least three times on the short drive to the hospital, and then done countless laps around the hospital car park because she'd been too nervous to even consider trying to reverse into any of the spaces. She could see Charles and Mark in the rear view mirror, exchanging impatient looks, and in the end she plucked up the courage to park.

Charles seemed to shrink down into his chair the further they got away from home. She wasn't sure if it was the huge coat they'd bundled him into to try and keep him warm in the icy wind, or the way his face was set into a grimace, but he looked very different to the Charles she was used to seeing every day. They walked slowly towards the entrance of the hospital, her and Mark both watching carefully, as he carefully navigated the uneven paving stones and other hazards that she would never have even noticed had she not have been with him.

He'd been called through almost immediately when they finally got into the hospital. Mark made no move to follow him so she took it as her cue to take a seat next to him. There wasn't any point in her going in there with him, she'd never understand any of it anyway and she doubted he wanted her there anyway.

"What are they doing in there anyway?" She asked eventually. He'd been in there over half an hour and Mark wasn't making any attempt to make conversation with her. It was leaving her far too much time to think about the fact she'd still got to drive them home again.

"It's just his six monthly check up." Mark shrugged, looking back down at his phone.

"What to see if he's getting any better?"

Mark looked up at her. "It's a spinal cord injury. He's not going to get any better."

"But you do all that physio and stuff with him, I just assumed…" she stopped, trying to process the new information. This news certainly explained a lot about Charles' attitude to life. Everything was starting to make sense.

"The physio is to try and keep his physical condition up. Stop his muscles atrophying, that sort of thing." Mark explained. His face softened and he looked almost sorry for her as he spoke again. "He's not going to walk again Molly, stuff like that only happens in the movies. Everything we do is just to try and keep him comfortable and keep any movement that he has still got. There isn't going to be any miracles."

"Does he actually do the physio and stuff? He doesn't ever want to do anything I suggest." She asked, trying to ignore the strange feeling in her stomach that the realisation he was going to be stuck like this forever had caused.

Mark shrugged. "When I first started he was pretty determined. He'd done really well with the rehab and I think he'd convinced himself he was going to beat all the odds and come back from this. Now… he does it because he knows he has to, but his heart really isn't in it. I think a lot of the time he's just going through the motions to keep Mrs J happy."

"I see." She said quietly, not really knowing what to say.

"You need to realise Molly, Charles came to terms with the fact he's not going to get better, and he was quite adamant that this isn't a life that he wants to live. He's trapped in his body and he really doesn't want to be here. I can't imagine what it's like for him, he literally had it all and now this is his life." Mark said quietly.

She didn't answer him, she didn't even know what to say. Somehow, this trip to the hospital had changed her entire opinion of Charles James.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Six**

The snow arrived so suddenly that she'd left home under a bright blue sky and stepped out of the tube station into a street covered in a thick white layer of snow. It looked like something off the front of a postcard. She pulled her coat and scarf up closer around her neck, the snow still falling in thick flurries. There wasn't really anything she could do about the fact the converse she'd bought in the charity shop definitely had a hole right next to the big toe in her left foot. She could feel the icy cold water seeping in and she picked up the pace as she headed towards the James' house as her toes began to go numb.

She'd been more than a little surprised when she'd let herself into the annexe and Mr James had been stood in the kitchen to greet her instead of Mark. "He's in bed." He stated without even bothering with a hello. She quite liked the way he always just got straight to the point of whatever it was he wanted to say. "I was just debating whether to call the doctor. He's not too good today."

"Where's Mark?" She frowned, peeling herself out of her coat and kicking her shoes off. She tried to ignore the way her feet squelched in her socks and the fact she was leaving wet footprints all over the floor.

"Morning off." Mr James sighed, he was staring out of the window at the thick snow that was still falling relentlessly. "Bloody typical too. There was an agency nurse came this morning but he was here and gone again in five minutes. I think he's coming this afternoon though, I don't know Mary sorts these things out."

"Oh good." Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

Mr James looked at her for a second, then all of a sudden he was heading for the door. She felt her stomach flip. "You know what he needs though, yes?" He didn't wait for the answer before he disappeared back into the main house without a backwards glance.

Molly peeled her soaking wet socks off, wringing them out in the sink before she hung them on the radiator. There was a pair of Charles' socks sitting on the top of the pile of laundry she had done the previous day and she grabbed them to put on, hoping they might at least do something to defrost her feet. Mrs James was going to be away all day, she knew because she'd told her repeatedly yesterday before she left, like she was worried Molly might seize the opportunity not to turn up for work or something.

Charles didn't answer her when she called out that she was there. She stuck her head round the bedroom door to find him fast asleep in bed. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest for a moment, just to convince herself that he was definitely still breathing, then she went off to grab the hoover and get on with her mornings tasks. She had begun to find a strange satisfaction with how spotlessly clean the annexe would be after she'd finished- it probably had something to do with the chaos she lived in at home. Dave had laughed for a good five minutes when she'd mentioned it the other night.

When it got to one o'clock and he still hadn't woken up the anxiety she'd felt in her stomach that morning got much, much worse. She'd put the kettle on and made them a cup of tea each, making as much noise as she could while she did it in the hope it might be enough to wake him up, before walking through to the bedroom. One of the expensive looking chairs that usually sat in the corner of the room was pulled up beside the bed. She could only imagine Mr or Mrs James had probably been sat there watching him all night- she could see why, he was a white as the bed sheets he was laying on and she could hear the faint wheeze of his chest every time he took a breath. She put the tea down on the bedside table and hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether she should wake him up or not.

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, his skin was hot and damp against her cold hands, and shook him. "Charles? Wake up. It's Molly."

He groaned, but didn't open his eyes.

"Charles!" She was a bit more forceful this time, partly because she needed to wake him up for some reassurance that he was still alive. She didn't even want to think about what Mrs James would do to her if anything happened to him, she'd been wishing for weeks the woman would go away and stop interfering and now she'd do anything to know she was just at the other end of the hall if she needed her.

"What?" He mumbled, his eyes snapping open for a second, then quickly dropping closed again. Even though the curtains were drawn and the room was in relative darkness he seemed to be squinting at her as though the lights were far too bright. "What do you want?"

"It's one o'clock you've been asleep all this time. I just wanted to check you're okay and see if you needed anything?" She braced herself for the scathing comment about the fact he was very clearly not okay, but he clearly was ill because he didn't mention it.

"I need to move. Can you roll me over?" He asked reluctantly, and she wasn't sure if it was the thought of moving he wasn't keen on or just the idea of her helping him.

She looked at him trying to work out what the best thing to do was. He was partially rolled onto his left side so he was facing her at the moment, his arm tucked under him to half prop him up.

"On my back." He croaked, as if he could read her mind. She stood uncertainly in front of him. "If you link your arms behind my back and pull… just sit on the bed or you'll put your back out." He mumbled, his expression was vacant and spaced out like he wasn't even really there.

She followed his instructions awkwardly. There was nothing she could do to convince herself that this wasn't at least a little bit weird. The scent of him filled her nostrils and his skin was warm against hers as she pulled him towards her. She couldn't have been any closer to him if she tried. He was broader and heavier than she'd expected, she linked her hands behind his back and adjusted herself until she was sure she'd actually got hold of him, and then pulled.

"Jesus Christ." He whispered.

She immediately panicked that she'd hurt him somehow. "What?"

"Your hands are bloody freezing." He muttered.

"Well if you'd bothered to get up you'd know it's snowing outside." She joked, he didn't even crack the smallest smile in response. She pulled him around so he was lying on his back, adjusted the pillows behind him and then reached for the remote to sit the bed up a bit.

"Not too much… dizzy." He mumbled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

She switched on the light so she could look at him properly, ignoring his half hearted attempt to protest. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"Not my best day." He mumbled.

"Do you need some painkillers?" She didn't know if she'd ever been quite as unsure what to do as she was in that moment.

"Strong ones."

"I'll get you some paracetamol." She suggested. She handed him the beaker of water that sat beside the bed and held it for him, watching for a moment as he seemed to almost struggle to swallow it.

"Thank you." He muttered. Her stomach flipped uneasily. He never thanked her for anything. His eyes closed again and she sat beside the bed, watching as his chest rose and fell. His breathing was shallow, and she thought probably more laboured than the day before. She'd never seen him out of his wheelchair before and she didn't know how much difference the fact he was laying down would make.

"Go." He mumbled, making her jump. She stood up quickly and left the room.

She sat on the sofa and read the magazine she'd treated herself to on the way home the night before, one eye fixed on his sleeping form that was just visible through the doorway of the bedroom. She watched as the snow continued to fall steadily, piling up on the window sills. Her mum texted her at 3pm telling her to make sure she was careful on the way home and not to leave without ringing them first. Problems on the tube she'd said, Molly and groaned out loud. There was no way she was going to walk home and she doubted she'd be able to get a bus either. She decided to worry about it in a few hours time.

She put her magazine down and went back to the bedroom to check on him again. She'd been keeping one eye on the clock, counting down the time until it seemed acceptable to go and look again. She didn't like the colour of him, he was still deathly pale but his cheeks were looking flushed and rosy. She could see a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Charles." She leant over him, the panic in her rising as he didn't stir. "Charles."

His eyes snapped open, inches from hers and he flinched.

"Sorry." She murmured, pulling back. "It's Molly." She added, he was looking at her with some kind of confusion that made her wonder if he actually recognised her.

He looked exasperated. "I know." The hint of sarcasm in his voice was a relief.

"Do you want some soup?" She asked, not really sure what else to suggest.

"No." He squeezed his eyes closed again.

"More painkillers?" He didn't answer her. "Is there anything I should be doing?" She asked.

"No."

She left him to it, pulling the huge binder out of the cupboard and rummaging through it in the hope of finding some kind of instructions for a situation like this. She opened the medicine cupboard and stared at the contents for a moment, but she hadn't got a clue where to even start with any of it. She rang the intercom that went through to the main house repeatedly, praying that Mr James would answer, but got nothing. She could hear the ringing sound echoing around the empty house beyond the annexe door.

She'd wound herself up to the point that she'd been about to ring Mrs James when the door opened and Mark came in, a rush of cold air hitting her as he came in and shook the snow off himself.

"Oh thank god." She breathed a sigh of relief. "He's not well. He's been asleep all day and he's hardly drunk anything. I didn't know what to do. I've been trying to get hold of Mr James but I think he must've gone out." She babbled.

"It was a nightmare getting here." He explained as he hung up his coat. She started making him a cup of tea as he disappeared off into the bedroom to check on Charles. He reappeared a few minutes later. "He's burning up. How long as he been like this?" His expression was grim and she felt the panic returning.

"He was like it when I got here. I did think he was hot but he just kept saying he wanted to sleep." She suddenly felt like she had to defend herself.

"Jesus. All morning? What was Mr James doing? Do you not know he can't regulate his own temperature?" He didn't hang around for the answer, he grabbed something out of the medicine cabinet and disappeared again.

She followed him. "I gave him some paracetamol."

"Might as well have given him a tictac." Mark snapped.

"I didn't know!" She protested. "No one told me."

"It's in the bloody folder. You were supposed to read it for a reason." Mark didn't turn to look at her as he busted himself stripping back the bedding and layers around Charles. "Go and find a fan and get me some damp towels." He ordered.

She ran to get them.

It took over forty minutes for his temperature to come down to what Mark deemed an acceptable level. They'd stripped off his pyjamas between them and laid a thin cotton sheet over him, positioning a couple of damp towels around his neck and over his forehead. Mark set up the fan to blow over him. Without his clothes the two jagged scars that ran parallel down his wrists were clearly visible. They both pretended they couldn't see them.

Charles endured it all in near silence, answering with a simple yes or no when Mark repeatedly questioned him. His answers were so vague and mumbled that she wondered if he actually knew what he was saying. Now she could see him properly with all the lights turned on she realised he did look really properly ill and she felt so guilty for not doing something earlier. She'd apologised over and over again until Mark had told her to either shut up or leave.

"Let him sleep." Mark instructed, putting his coat and boots back on. "But wake him up in a couple of hours. Make sure he drinks at least that whole beaker and I've left the tablets you need to give him a five out."

She frantically scribbled it all down, terrified that she might forget something. "Call me if you have any problems, I can try and get back." Were his last words as he headed out into the snow.

She stayed in his bedroom after Mark left, too afraid to leave him alone. She curled up in the arm chair a few feet away from the bed with a book she'd taken off the shelf- The Great Gatsby- she couldn't help but think how Dave would die from laughing if he could see her, but she quickly found herself enjoying it. It was nice to have a little while to herself with no kids running around too.

At 5pm her phone lit up with a text message. 'Any chance you can stay overnight? No trains and I can't get back. Mary James.'

She didn't really think about it as she typed her reply. 'No problem.' She quickly sent one to Belinda to explain she wasn't coming home, then settled herself back in the chair for the evening.

She rang her parents to tell them she wasn't coming home. Dave made some joke about being paid to sleep and it being her dream job. Charles slept. She defrosted some soup incase he wanted some later and cooked herself some food. She got the fire going in the living room incase he made it out of bed later. She sat back down beside his bed, watching his chest rise and fall.

Mark rang just after seven to check up on them. He seemed relieved to hear she was staying. "I still haven't managed to get hold of Mr James. I even rang the landline."

"Yeah. He'll be gone." Mark sounded grim.

"Gone? Should I call Mrs James then?" She had a sudden panic at the thought of it being just the two of them. What if something happened?

"No. Best not." Was the answer after a short pause.

"But-"

"Look." Mark sighed down the phone. "He often goes and… stays… somewhere else when Mrs J is away."

"Oh." It took her a moment to realise what he was getting at.

"You'll be fine though. You can ring me if you need to okay?"

"Yeah, thanks Mark." She agreed.

She'd cleaned the kitchen again to kill some time, folded the laundry and put some more washing on. The hands on the clock seemed to be moving in slow motion and she didn't know what to do with herself to pass the time. Eventually she went back through to his bedroom and just sat there watching him again. She sneezed and he stirred slightly.

"What time is it Dawes?" He mumbled, his eyes half open as he squinted at her, lifting his head slightly.

"Half past eight."

His head dropped back down onto the pillows. "Can I have a drink please?" He asked. There was no sharpness or sarcasm too him now, being ill had finally made him show some vulnerability, and she didn't really know how to deal with it.

She move across the room, flicked on the lamp beside the bed and sat on the edge of the bed as she held his drink for him. She placed her hand on his forehead as her mum had done for her years ago.

"Cool hands." He commented.

"You were complaining about them earlier." She laughed.

"Was I?" He sounded genuinely surprised, she wondered just how out of it he had actually been earlier.

"Do you want anything to eat?" He shook his head. "Okay. Are you comfortable?" She suspected from the face he pulled he was never really comfortable, but he knew what she meant.

"Can you roll me on to my side a bit?" He asked.

She nodded, climbing over him gently so she could roll him. She was relieved to find he wasn't anywhere near as warm had he had been when she'd done this earlier.

"Shouldn't you be going home?" He frowned, as though the time had finally registered in his brain.

"It's okay. Your mum asked me to stay." She was waiting for him to start arguing.

"I see."

She stayed sitting there on the side of his bed for a moment, not sure what to say. "Can I ask you something?"

He snorted. "I suspect you're going to even if I say no."

She looked down at her hands. "What happened?"

"You mean how did I end up like this?" She nodded. "I was driving home from the base, it was icy and I braked to avoid a deer. Next thing I knew I was upside down in a ditch. Ironic right? Three tours of Afghanistan and not a scratch on me, then this happens five minutes from my own home. Apparently I should be grateful, that's what my mother keeps telling me- for a while they didn't think I was going to live at all."

"Do you hate living here?" She asked, the words coming out before she could think about what she was saying.

"Yes." He answered quietly. "I believe you met Elvis?"

She nodded.

"We did all our training together, he was my best friend. We were supposed to be going to Afghanistan together the week after my accident." He sighed.

"Well I mean surely you could still be friends? I know things are different for you now and if I'm being honest here he did seem like a bit of a dick… but still." She thought he might laugh but he didn't.

"He came to tell me he's getting married, and he's been selected for Special Forces." Charles told her, as though that somehow explained everything. "That should've been me." His voice was a whisper that her voice strained to hear.

"I'm sorry."

"Did you make me crash my car? You haven't got anything to be sorry about." He answered. "Why don't you tell me something instead of me depressing you with my life story?"

"I seem to remember being told off once for being too chatty." She laughed, settling herself back on the pillows beside him. She could've sworn for a moment he almost looked embarrassed.

"You are too chatty, but I've been staring at the ceiling all day you've gotta give me something." He joked.

"There's really not much to tell. I live in a grotty little house right by the West Ham ground with my mum, dad and four brothers and sisters. Got fired from the nail salon I worked in and needed a job because my dads a bit shit and someone has to pay the bills…. so here we are."

They talked for a bit longer, he questioned her mainly about Dave and what exactly she meant by the fact he was a bit shit, then he'd fallen asleep again and she'd found herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

The next thing she knew she was being shaken awake by Mrs James. "What are you doing?" She frowned, clearly trying to work out quite why Molly was in her sons bed.

"He wasn't well. I thought I should keep an eye on him." Molly mumbled, trying to wake herself up. She'd got a horrible feeling her makeup was smeared all over her face.

"What do you mean he wasn't well? Come out into the hall." She glanced at Charles who was still sleeping, then spun around and left the room, standing outside the door arms folded as she waited for Molly. "Why didn't you call me or Mr James."

She felt her cheeks flush at the mention of Mr James. What was she supposed to say?

"Look it's not rocket science Molly. If he was that unwell that you needed to sleep in his bed to keep an eye on him then that's something you should've contacted me about, yes? Did you even try to call my husband?"

Molly stood there, mouth open and trying to think what she could say. Then the door to the annexe opened and Mr James stood in the doorway.

"You made it back!" He smiled at his wife. "Bloody awful out there that snow isn't it? I barely made it back from getting my newspaper!"

"Did you know that Charles had been unwell during the night?" Mrs James asked. There was a frosty edge to her voice that made Molly wonder if she already knew exactly where her husband had been last night.

"Did you try and call me?" He looked straight at Molly who dropped her gaze awkwardly. "I'm so sorry, I think the intercom is on the blink again. I'll have a look at it later."

Mrs James looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment uncertainly. "I think I'll just leave you too it. It's been a long journey back. Just make sure it doesn't happen again." She was gone, taking her husband with her, before Molly could get any words out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Seven**

As March arrived, so did spring rather suddenly. She'd realised as she'd walked from the tube station to the James' house that the bitter chill in the air had gone and she was actually rather warm, even the sun was shining. It helped to brighten her mood, if only a little, though it was going to take more than a little bit of warmth and sunshine to make her forget the blazing row she'd had with Dave that morning. She'd still been mulling it over in her mind when Mrs James had suddenly arrived in the annexe and more or less ordered her and Charles to go outside.

"I've asked the cleaners to do a special spring clean. Maybe you could go and enjoy this lovely weather in the garden while they're busy in here." She'd said. Molly could help but wonder what there actually was in the annexe for them to clean. Was it supposed to be an insult to her given that she cleaned the place every day? She wasn't sure, and then she realised she didn't care.

Charles met her eyes with the faintest trace of a smile before he looked back over at his mother. "Let's be honest here it's not really a request is it?"

"I just think it would be good if you went out and at least got some air. I've put the ramp down for you." She told him quickly. She was already opening the door to let the cleaners in.

Molly put her coat on and went to find a blanket for Charles. It was much warmer than it had been but she wasn't entirely sure it was sitting in the garden kind of weather. She wasn't about to start trying to argue with Mrs James though. The woman still terrified her and probably always would. She opened the door for him and he wheeled himself out into the garden, which seemed to be full of daffodils that she had never noticed before, and parked himself next to a wooden bench which she sat beside him on.

Neither of them spoke for a while, just sitting there as the sun warmed their skin. "Come on then, what's wrong with you?" He sighed.

"What do you mean what's wrong?" She frowned, she didn't look at him though. She watched as a tiny little bird landed on the washing line.

"You're quiet."

"You said you wanted me to be quiet." She retorted. Of course he'd choose a day where she wanted him to leave her alone to be all observant and chatty again.

"Not this quiet. You're a girl who never shuts up, the radio silence I'm getting is a bit alarming." He answered. He was still frowning at her, like if he stared hard enough he might be able to work out what was bothering her.

"I'm fine." She shrugged.

"My mother is going to have the cleaners running round in there for hours so you might as well talk to me." He sighed.

She twisted around on the bench so she was facing him. She wished he hadn't because he was giving her this look of something that was near concern and she hated it. "It's fine, really. My Dad's just being a bit shit that all, nothing out of the ordinary." She tried to shrug it off.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need a bit more than a bit shit. What are we talking here? Used the last of the milk or murdered someone?" He looked pleased with himself for making a joke. She almost smiled.

"Not quite a murder, but it's not great." She grimaced.

"Dawes, just hurry up and spit it out." He rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Do you promise you're not going to laugh?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She really wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he was going to have to say but she did feel like she needed to tell someone.

"No." He laughed. "But I'll try."

"He's paying someone on one of the building sites to put a drill through his hand so he doesn't have to work again." It sounded even worse as it came out of her mouth than it did when Dave had told her his master plan the night before.

She could see from the look on his face as he stared at her that he really couldn't work out if she was winding him up or not. It was the same look she'd given Dave, and god she wished it was just a wind up.

"I'll be honest Dawesey, not what I was expecting." He said eventually, still looking a bit thrown.

"You just called me Dawesey!" That had grabbed her attention far more than his reaction to Dave's stupidity. "I must be winning you round with my incredible charm and magnetism." She joked.

"Either that or being trapped in a house with you for hours on end every day has finally driven me mad." He retorted, but he couldn't hide the grin on his face.

She decided to seize the moment and take advantage of his good mood to ask some questions of her own. "So, your friend who came to visit?"

"Elvis?" He looked puzzled. "Please tell me he didn't do something massively inappropriate?"

"No." She answered quickly. "Why, should I have been worried?"

Charles grimaced. "Let's just say he's not got the best track record. Mind you he's getting married now so I hope for everyone's sake he behaves himself from now on. Lane will castrate him if he tries anything." He smiled to himself at the thought.

"Are you going to the wedding?" She'd spotted the invitation sitting on the kitchen window earlier.

He pulled a face. "Let's just say it was more a token than an actual invitation." He paused for a second. "And I expect Rebecca will be there too, if I really needed a reason not to go."

She tried to work out if she'd heard the name Rebecca somewhere before so she could work out who he was talking about. "The blonde woman in your photos?"

He grimaced. "Yep."

"Your wife?" She asked hesitantly. She wasn't really sure whether to carry on pushing, despite her curiosity, or whether he'd tell her to shut up.

"Almost." He said slowly. "We were supposed to be getting married when I got back from Afghanistan. Between her and my mother they'd planned the wedding of the century, I'm not sure Mum ever forgave me for the fact she never got to wear her hat."

"What happened?" She asked, she was sure any second now he was going to tell her to shut up and mind her own business.

"I wasn't very…. Easy to love, shall we say, after what happened. I fooled myself into thinking if I did all the physio and that maybe I'd be that miracle you read about and get my life back. When I realised that wasn't going to happen I pushed everything and everyone from my old life away. Felt easier like that." He mumbled. "Besides, I didn't want Rebecca to be trapped looking after me for the rest of her life, because she would've stayed if I had given her the choice." He sounded so matter of fact about it all it took her by surprise.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. She felt bad for bringing it up.

"You're going to have to learn to stop doing that." He sighed.

"What?"

"Apologising like you're the one who did this to me." He answered softly, his gaze fixed on a tiny bird that sat perched on the fence at the end of the garden.

She wasn't even sure where it had come from, but somewhere along the line her lack of verbal filter had meant that she had found herself telling him that his rather long and unkempt hair made him look like one of the rather strange men who kept sitting uncomfortably close to her on the tube and telling her all kinds of strange things on her journey to and from work.

She'd braced herself for him to get angry, but he'd snorted with laughter and told her that she'd clearly been spending too much time around his mother if she was starting to sound like her. She'd seized the opportunity to throw in a jibe about his beard and how if it got any longer she might have to sue him for undue distress in the workplace. He'd found that part particularly funny, asking if he could sue her for the distress her cooking caused him.

Somehow, after he'd finished howling with laughter and they'd finally been allowed back into the house, she found herself in the bathroom nervously standing over him with a can of shaving foam and a razor wonder what the hell she was supposed to do next. She lathered the shaving foam up and paused with the razor an inch from his face.

"Is now a good time to tell you I barely manage to shave my own legs most of the time, never mind someone else's face."

He gave her a look, which without him even having to say anything she could tell was her cue to shut up and get on with it. She smoothed the hair back from his face, trying to work out where to start, and spotted the long scar that ran up the side of his face just behind the hairline- she'd never noticed before, and she felt her stomach twist at the thought of how it had got there. Biting on her lip she got brave enough to start clearing the beard so she could actually see his face.

It was a weirdly intimate experience. She'd thought that the wheelchair, and the fact she worked for him, would prevent anything like that from happening. It wasn't working like that though, it was impossible not to feel close to someone with your fingertips on their face and their breath on your skin. By the time she reached the other side she was feeling a bit uncomfortable, like she'd crossed some kind of invisible boundary.

She wasn't sure if he'd somehow managed to sense the change in her mood, but when he opened his eyes there was a long moment where he just looked at her before he spoke. "Please tell me you haven't shaved my eyebrows off?"

"Just the left one." She joked, turning to the sink to rinse the razor in the hope the colour might've drained from her cheeks a little by the time she looked back at him. "Right, I think you're all done."

"What about my hair?"

She spun round and looked at him again. "You want _me_ to cut your hair? Are you having a laugh?"

"You might as well." He shrugged, the tiny movement was almost unnoticeable. "Besides it might stop you moaning at me for a couple of days at least." He teased.

"Oh my god your Mum is going to be so happy!" She blurted out, rummaging in the cupboard above the sink for the scissors she'd seen when she was looking for the razor.

"Well, we won't let that put us off." He smirked.

She'd almost finished when she went through to the kitchen to get the other mirror that usually sat on the side in the kitchen so she could show him the end result of her handiwork. She'd left him sitting there, under orders not to move while she got it, but she became distracted by Mrs James' voice coming from the living room along with another woman. Her stomach twisted wondering if his almost wife had decided to turn up for a surprise visit to spoil his good mood.

"Sophie, please don't!" Mrs James sounded even more anxious than normal which certainly wasn't a good sign.

The living room door was wrenched open and a tall dark haired girl flew past her with Mrs James in pursuit before she had a chance to react.

"You are the most selfish man I have ever met!" She screeched at Charles as she met him in the doorway of the bathroom, on his way out to find out what all the noise was about. "I honestly can't believe you would do something like this!"

"Sophie please." Mrs James was lurking awkwardly behind her, one hand outstretched as though she was considering grabbing the woman and dragging her away. Molly couldn't help but think she'd like to see her try.

"What do you even think-" the woman started again.

"Sophie!" Mrs James finally lost her patience. "This is not the time!"

Molly found herself walking across to the doorway of the bathroom to remove the towel that was round Charles' neck on autopilot. "Is everything okay?" She asked quietly.

"Who are you?" The woman snapped.

"Sophie, meet Molly Dawes my babysitter and apparently now hairdresser. Molly, this is my sister Sophie who has apparently flown all the way back from Australia so she can scream at me."

"Don't even start with me Charles, Mum has told me everything." Sophie snapped at her brother.

"Shall I give you a minute?" Molly asked, shifting uncomfortably as Charles and his sister continued to glare at each other.

"That might be a good idea." Mrs James agreed tightly.

She slid out of the room silently, not daring to look back, to go and get her bag. She wanted to get out of there quickly before whatever this was kicked off any more than it already had.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe this might not all be about you?!" Even with the door closed behind her she could still here Sophie screeching at her brother. She quickly rummaged around for her shoes so she could get out of there. "And as for you Mother, Bloody Dignitas?! Are you out of your mind? Why on earth would you agree to something like that?"

She ducked out of the door into the garden just in time before Mrs James hauled her daughter through and slammed the door shut behind her.

"You can't talk to him like that Sophie!" She hissed.

"I just don't understand why you'd agree to something like that!"

Molly stood pressed up against the wall outside , not intentionally trying to eavesdrop, but without anyway of leaving that wouldn't give away the fact she was still there and had heard the rest of the conversation. The kitchen window she'd opened earlier meant she could still hear everything that was going on even from outside.

"I didn't tell you at the time, your father thought it would upset you too much, but he tried to kill himself Soph. He's adamant this is what he wants, and if we don't let him do it his way he'll find another way, and I don't ever want to go through that again." Mrs James said quietly.

Molly stomach flipped and she thought she might be sick. She'd known somewhere deep down what had happened, she'd seen the scars on his wrists and Mrs James' constant insistence that she mustn't leave him alone for too long. It was still a shock to hear her actually say the words out loud.

"The girl." She could hear it in his sister's voice that everything was suddenly making sense.

"Molly is here to make sure it doesn't happen again." Mrs James said quietly. "Now, he promised me six months, and I don't want to hear anything of it again. Understood?"

"What happens when your six months is up?"

"We just have to pray something happens that will change his mind before then." Mrs James answered softly.

Molly heard the sound of Mrs James' heels clicking on the floor- a sign that she was moving away, probably to go and find Charles, and took her opportunity to run out of the garden and down the road to the park before they could spot her. She needed more than a few minutes peace and quiet to digest everything she'd just heard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight**

 _Mary James_

She hadn't set out to help kill her son. Even thinking it in her own mind the words sounded strange, like some kind of shocking headline in one of those dreadful tabloid newspapers she hated so much. How many nights had she lay awake since he'd first told her what she wanted, trying to wrap her mind around the impossibility of what he was asking? She still couldn't even begin to imagine actually going through with it, even after all this time.

Her husband, Steven, was poking at a log on the fire, his back to her as he hummed to himself. He turned around to face her and she held out the glass of red wine she'd poured for him, sitting down on the sofa and taking a sip from her own glass.

"Thanks." Steven mumbled. "Is Sophie not coming down?"

She shook her head, pausing to sip her wine again. "Apparently not, I did ask."

"What is she doing?" He frowned, sitting down opposite her. The dog padded across the room and flopped down beside his feet.

"Watching tv. I did try and talk to her but she doesn't want any company or to talk about it." She sighed. The exhaustion was beginning to set in, the last couple of days catching up with her, but she knew she'd only lay there tossing and turning all night so it seemed rather pointless going to bed.

"She'll come round. It's probably the jet lag." He shrugged, watching the fire again.

"I hope so Steven. She's really not happy with us at the moment." She too stared at the fire for a moment, the room around them dark and still. The only sound was the crackling of the logs on the fire and the gentle snoring coming from the dog.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, and she so desperately wished she could know what he was thinking about. He'd always been a difficult man to read. "What do you think, all this haircut business?" He looked over at her again.

She picked at a loose thread on one of the cushions. "I'd like to think it was a good sign." She said slowly.

"That Molly is a bit of a character isn't she?"

She didn't miss the way her husband smiled to himself as he said her name. _Not her too_. She tried to squash the thought. She preferred not to think about what her husband was up to if at all possible, it was much easier that way. "Yes, I suppose she is."

"So do you think she's the right one?" He'd almost finished his drink already, she sipped at hers again.

"I don't know." She mumbled.

"He likes her, I'm sure he does. He mentioned her twice when we were watching the news the other night. He's never done that before!"

"Yes. Well I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"Do you have to?" He was giving her one of those looks again. It was difficult to explain how he looked at her sometimes, but it made her feel uncomfortable. It was like he was seeing the new lines around her eyes, every new grey hair. It gave her the feeling he was comparing her to someone else, someone better.

"I'm just being realistic." She told him quietly, looking down at the dog who was now asleep with all four legs in the air. She wished her life was that simple.

"You sound like you're expecting it to happen." He was angry, after thirty years of marriage she didn't even need to look at him to know.

"I know my son."

"Our son." He corrected.

"Yes. Our son." She agreed quietly. She couldn't help but feel that Charles had always been more her son. His father had just been the absence he was always trying to impress. How many times had she wondered where they might be now if Charles hadn't decided to follow in his father's footsteps in the army?

"He'll change his mind. There's a long way to go still." He sounded so confident, she wasn't sure if she was jealous of that confidence or worried about the fact he seemed to be sticking his head in the sand and thinking Charles wasn't serious about this.

"I feel… well, I keep feeling like I'm missing something." She admitted. She didn't really know why she was telling him, it wasn't like he really cared anymore anyway. They'd passed the pretending stage a long time ago.

"You can only do what you can do." He got up and went to the fire again, she suspected it was more to do with the fact he could hardly look her in the eye.

"Yes. I am well aware of that, but it's not really enough- is it?" He didn't answer her, he just carried on poking around with the fire until she left the room, which he'd known she would.

When Charles had first told her what he wanted to do, he'd had to tell her twice because she couldn't believe that she was hearing him right. Somehow, she'd stayed quite calm to begin with. Then she'd told him he was being ridiculous and quickly walked away from him. It was unfair, the advantage that being able to walk gave her, there were two steps between the annexe and the house that he couldn't navigate without someone there to put a ramp down for him so she knew he couldn't follow her. She'd shut the door of the annexe and stood there in the hallway for a long time, his words going round and round in her head.

Charles, being Charles wouldn't let it go. He'd repeated his request every time she'd gone to see him. It had reached the stage where she'd found herself standing outside the door giving herself a little pep talk each morning to persuade herself to go in.

 _'I don't want to live like this Mum. There isn't any hope I'm going to recover from this, and it isn't a life I want to live. I don't think it's an unreasonable request for me to ask to end it in a manner I see fit.'_ As he'd argued with her she'd got a glimpse of the man he once was, the Army Captain with an answer for everything. The man she'd been so proud of, and still was everyday even though he refused to see it. He was used to being the one giving the orders, always in charge and she knew how much he hated being stuck there in that chair. She hated seeing him like it too, but it didn't mean she'd ever agree with what he was suggesting. Her son was still in there after all, she just wished she could find a way to make him see that.

It took his attempt to change her mind. It had been a wake up call, that he was going to do this with or without her agreement. She could still remember the day as clearly as if it had just happened. She had no doubt it was going to be seared into her memory for the rest of her life.

January 22nd, she'd been in court all day. It had been relentless- uninsured drivers, shoplifters and angry ex-husbands. Steven had walked into the annexe and found their son barely conscious, his head lolling to one side and blood pooling around the wheels of his chair.

Somehow, he'd managed to locate a rusty nail barely half an inch long sticking out of one of the kitchen cupboards where they'd been put up in a hurry. She still couldn't to this day couldn't imagine the kind of determination that had kept him going through that kind of pain. He'd reversed back and forth in his chair with his wrist pressed against the nail until his wrists were sliced to ribbons. The doctor had said he was twenty minutes away from death.

As they'd so helpfully pointed out to her at the hospital, as if she didn't already know, it wasn't a cry for help. He'd meant it.

When they'd told her that he was going to live, the overwhelming relief she'd felt had quickly and rather surprisingly turned to anger at her son for doing this. Anger that no matter what she tried, he refused to talk to her about why. She wanted to understand, she really did. But it was impossible when he refused to actually talk to her about why.

Steven had tried to comfort her, stood there with his hand on her shoulder as she'd sobbed and screamed and told her over and over again that it would all be okay. It had made her feel sick, listening to him say those words.

Her husband hadn't figured it out yet- that Charles would try again. That they would be spending their lives in a constant state of vigilance, constantly on the lookout for anything he could use to try and hurt himself. That every time he didn't immediately answer them when they called out to him there would be that overwhelming fear present that they might be about to find that he'd finally succeeded.

They'd had to learn to see the world through his eyes, every sharp object and potential poison that he could try and use to finish the job that car accident had started.

The problem was, Charles was at a great advantage. Being stuck there in that chair all day he had nothing else to think about.

Two weeks later she'd told him yes.

What else was she supposed to do?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine**

She didn't sleep that night. She lay there wide awake, staring at the bunk bed above her and listening to the quiet sound of Bella snoring in the bed above her. She was going over and over the last two months that she'd been working for the James' in her head, everything beginning to slot into place with what she now knew.

She felt duped. They hadn't outright lied to her, but they also hadn't told her the truth. She felt like she'd been the dim-witted hired help who hadn't known what was going on, and that they must have been laughing at her behind closed doors as she'd fed him vegetables and cut his hair. All the little things she'd been doing to try and make him feel better- after all what was the point?

She'd gone over and over the conversation that she'd overheard, trying to find another way to interpret it, to convince herself she had misunderstood. She'd come up empty. Dignitas wasn't exactly the kind of place you went for a holiday- she knew, she'd googled it on her way home.

She couldn't believe that Mary James could even contemplate doing this to her son. Yes, she might've been a bit cold and she couldn't imagine her ever wrapping her son in the kind of bear hug Belinda often smothered her in, but she'd just thought maybe that was how posh people were with their children?

With hindsight, her behaviour seemed almost sinister. To actively, voluntarily play a part in her own sons death? Molly wasn't sure how the woman could live with herself.

She was angry. Angry with Charles and with Mrs James. Angry that they'd let her live this facade. Angry that she'd spent all that time sitting there thinking of ways to make things better for him, make him more comfortable or happier. When the anger faded a little she was sad. She would recall the way Mrs James' voice had broken a little as she'd tried to comfort her daughter and she couldn't help but feel sadness for her despite her anger l. She was after all, in an impossible position.

Mostly, she was filled with horror. She was haunted by what she now knew, with no way to erase it from her mind and carry on oblivious. Maybe ignorance really was bliss? How could he live each day, knowing he was simply whiling away the time until his own death? How could that man- whose skin was warm under her fingers and who had that mischievous sparkle in his eyes- just choose not to exist anymore? How could it be that with everyone's agreement in six months time he would be gone?

She couldn't tell anyone either, that was the worst part. She was stuck with the weight of their secret. She couldn't explain it to Dave and Belinda, even if she'd wanted to. How were you supposed to put something like that into words?

She'd told Belinda she wasn't hungry and gone straight upstairs to bed. At 8.30pm her Mum had eventually come up the stairs to find her, a cup of tea in hand. There was nothing a cup of tea couldn't fix according to Belinda. She took the tea, said she had a headache and pretended to be asleep until Belinda gave up and left again. She could hear them downstairs, talking about her and Belinda blaming herself for making Molly take the job. She was going to have to let them carry on thinking that it was the pressure of the job getting too her because she didn't know what else she was going to say.

Paradoxically, Charles was on fine form the next day. He was in a really good mood and very chatty. It was almost like he wanted to spar with her and was disappointed when she wouldn't play. He talked more than he had in the whole time she worked there. On any other day she would've been pleased.

"So when are you going to finish this then?" He asked. She was tidying up the living room, not that there was really any mess tone tidied, she needed to keep herself busy so she didn't have to make conversation with him. It was too difficult.

She rearranged the cushions on the sofa. "What?"

"My hair!" He laughed. "I look like… well I don't even know." He turned his head so she could see what he was talking about.

"You want me to keep cutting?"

"Well it would be nice not to look like I've escaped from an asylum." He joked. "And it seemed to keep you happy."

She went to the bathroom to get the towel and scissors in silence.

"Mark was happy, said I looked a lot better." He chatted as she worked in silence. "He did point out now you've sorted my face out we're going to have to do it again every day."

"Oh."

"You don't mind, do you?" He asked. "I'll have to put up with the stubble at the weekend I'm not letting my mother near me with a razor."

She didn't know what to say to him. She'd barely been able to look at him all morning. It felt weirdly like when she'd found out her boyfriend had cheated on her- as though he had betrayed her somehow.

"Dawes?"

"Hmmm?" She carried on trimming the hair at the back of his neck to try and get it so it was at least sort of level.

"You're doing that whole unnervingly quiet thing again." He commented. "What happened to the so chatty it's irritating thing?"

"Sorry." She mumbled.

"Your Dad again?" He pressed.

"No." She carried on softly snipping at his hair. Her mind wandering, wondering how they'd actually do it. Was it an injection? Medicine? How did they help someone who couldn't actually use his hands?

"You look tired. I wasn't going to say anything, but you do look terrible. Don't try and tell me everything's okay."

"Oh." Her mind was still miles away, her hands seemed to be working without her brain as they continued to snip away at his hair. She found her gaze wandering down to his wrists, covered by long sleeves, thinking about the scars that were underneath and how they'd got there.

"Dawes?"

"Yes." She was so glad she was stood behind him and he couldn't see her face. She'd never had a good poker face.

"Look, I'm sorry about my sister. She was …. very upset, but it didn't give her the right to be rude. She's always been very direct, I think maybe that's why she likes living in Australia."

"Why? Because they actually tell each other the truth?" She wasn't really sure where that had come from. The anger she'd felt the night before was starting to resurface.

"What?"

"Nothing. Lift your head up please." She went back to what she was doing in silence because she knew that if she carried on talking to him she was going to say something she couldn't take back.

By the end of the day it had all become clear in her mind. The decision she'd spent most of the night mulling over seemed to have made itself as the day had progressed. While Charles was watching tv with Mr James, she grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer and a pen from the jar on the windowsill and written down what she wanted to say- she knew she wasn't going to be able to do it face to face.

When she was done she stuck her head around the door to tell him she was leaving for the day. He was sitting there laughing, the kind of laughter that made your stomach hurt and left you short of breath- she wondered what could provoke that kind of laughter when you were sitting there counting down the days until your own death.

"I'm off." She shouted, her coat already on. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Hey, Dawes-" he began, but she had already closed the door.

She spent the tube journey home trying to work out what she could tell her parents to explain why she had just walked out of a ridiculously well paid job. She could hear Dave in her ear already, he was going to be going on about this for months. She couldn't tell them the truth, she didn't owe the James family anything, but she knew what would happen if this got out and she wasn't going to be the one to do it to them.

Her worries were momentarily forgotten as the turned the corner onto their estate. There was shouting and cheering, glancing up she saw that the couple who lived opposite them were having another one of their lovely domestics. Dave and Belinda would be thrilled that there was some entertainment for the evening. She could see them both standing on the balcony, cup of tea in hand watching as Mrs Adams hurled her husband's belongings out of the window while she screamed down at him.

She jogged up the stairs, silently thankful that the Adams had chosen today to have another one of their famous arguments. It might keep Dave and Belinda distracted and stop them questioning her too much and at least give her time to come up with a story to tell them.

"Hi love." Belinda smiled as she reached them. "Good day?"

"How long have they been at it?" Molly asked, gesturing to the scene across the road. She watched as a DVD player was hurled out of the window, narrowly missing one of the people standing there watching.

"I'd say a good forty five minutes, wouldn't you Dave?"

"Longer if you're counting from when she started throwing the clothes out the windows but if you're going since he came home then yeah." He sipped at his beer. She could see the smile on his face- he was enjoying this. It didn't surprise her.

She was still standing there with them in silence, watching as what seemed like the entire contents of the house was thrown out of the window, the crowd below them growing, when she noticed the car. The shiny metallic blue Audi was instantly recognisable- they didn't get many cars like that around there. She watched as the unmistakable figure of Mrs James climbed out of the car and looked around. Molly briefly considered ducking down and hiding, but then she realised she'd given her address when she took the job and Mrs James would come up and find her. She caught her eye as she looked around, presumably trying to work out where to go, and signalled that she'd go down and meet her. She could hear Dave and Belinda muttering as she jogged back down the stairs.

Mrs James was standing by her car, staring at the scene the neighbours were causing with a look of confusion when Molly reached her.

"Domestic dispute." Molly explained quietly when Mrs James didn't say anything.

Mrs James looked away quickly, as if she was embarrassed to have been caught. "I see." She looked even more tense than normal, which until that moment Molly wouldn't have thought was possible. "I wondered if you and I could have a talk?"

Molly glanced over her shoulder, Dave and Belinda were still watching from the balcony with curiosity. There was no way she was going to take Mrs James into her house. "Now isn't really a good time."

"We can talk in my car, five minutes. Please?" She'd thought Mrs James was angry to begin with, but she was realising the edge she could hear in her voice was desperation. Molly nodded, she wasn't going to get out of this so she might as well get it over with.

A couple of the neighbours glanced in her direction as she climbed into the car. Around there getting into a car like that generally meant you were being arrested by plain clothes police. She was thankful for the domestic that was happening or she might've been the subject of the local gossip. The doors closed with an expensive clunk, the car smelt of leather and there wasn't a single item out of place in the car. Molly's shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

"I thought you and Charles were getting on well." Mrs James stared straight ahead out of the windscreen as she spoke. "Is there a problem with the money?" She asked when Molly didn't answer immediately.

"No."

"Do you need a longer lunch break? I'm conscious that you don't get very long. I could ask Mark if maybe-"

"It's not the hours or the money."

"Then-"

"I really don't want to-"

"Look, You can't hand in your notice with immediate effect and not expect me to even ask why!" Mrs James snapped.

Molly took a deep breath, she was going to have to tell her or she was never going to let it go. "I know. I heard you with your daughter last night. I don't…. I don't want to be a part of it."

"Ah." They sat in silence for a long moment. "Please, don't do this. He's comfortable with you and it would be very difficult for us to replicate that with someone else."

"How can you ask me to do that- you're planning to take him to that place so he can kill himself!"

"No- I'm doing everything I can to try and stop him doing that." Mrs James answered softly.

"Doesn't look like it to me." Molly snorted.

"You must know by now that once my son has decided he doesn't want to hear something there's not much anyone can do about it." Mrs James sighed.

"I worked it all out. I'm just there to make sure he doesn't cheat and do it before his six months is up aren't I?"

"No, that's not it." Mrs James shook her head.

"Don't lie to me. That's why you didn't care about any of my qualifications or anything." Molly was getting angry again now.

"I thought you had a personality and you might cheer him up. You didn't look like a nurse. I thought that having you around might help make him happier, and it has Molly- you must be able to see that?" She paused, searching for the words. "Seeing him yesterday- his haircut and that awful beard being gone, it was like seeing my son again for the first time since the accident. You're one of the very few people who can actually get through to him."

"Don't you think it would've been nice if you'd let me know I was on suicide watch?"

Mrs James gave a sigh like she was being forced to explain something to a complete idiot. Molly wondered if she knew that every time she spoke to her she managed to make her feel like a complete moron. Maybe she was doing it on purpose?

"Look, that might've been the case when you first started but I'm confident that Charles will stick to his word and give me the six months he promised. We need this time Molly, to convince him that there are still possibilities- that it might not be the life he had planned but it doesn't mean his life is over." Mrs James finally turned to face her, looking at her pleadingly.

"It's all lies. You're all just lying to each other and I don't want to be part of it."

"Look, what do you want?" Mrs James sighed, she reached into the glovebox and pulled out a cheque book. "I'll double your money, whatever. Just tell me what it is you want?"

"I don't want your money." Dave would kill her if he ever found out about this.

"We can reduce your hours a bit? Pay for your travel?"

"No."

"Then…. just tell me what I can do to change your mind." She could tell Mrs James was more than a little thrown by the fact she hadn't been able to fix this with a cheque.

Molly made to get out of the car and Mrs James' hand shot out and grabbed her arm to stop her. They both sat there, staring at her hand as it gripped Molly's jumper, until she slowly removed it.

"You signed a contact Miss Dawes, to work for us for six months. You've only done two, I'm simply requiring you to fulfil your contractual obligations." Her voice was forced, Molly noticed her hand trembling as it rested on the steering wheel. "Please." She whispered.

Molly went for the handle on the door again. "I'm sorry, I am, but I can't just sit by and watch. It's too weird. I don't want to be part of this."

"Just think about it, please? It's Good Friday tomorrow, I can tell Charles you've got family commitments if you need more time. Please?" She could hear the desperation in Mrs James' voice. "Please come back and help him."

She climbed back out of the car and made her way back up the stairs without a backwards glance. Mrs James was still sitting in her car clutching at the steering wheel when Molly glanced down from the balcony. She headed inside and straight up the stairs before either of her parents could try to talk to her.

She needed to think.

When there was a knock on her bedroom door an hour later she assumed it was going to be her Mum coming up to interrogate her about who she'd been talking to in the car. She'd been more than a little surprised when her Nan had burst through the door with a bottle of wine shoved up her jumper and two mugs.

"Come on. Budge up." She shoved Molly's legs out of the way so she could sit down, then filled a mug each with wine. "You're lucky I managed to sneak this past Dave… mind you I'm not sure it's his kind of drink anyway. Now, drink up and tell me what's wrong."

Molly took a huge gulp of the wine, then almost spit it straight back out again, it was like drinking vinegar. She was going to need more of it though to get herself through telling them all she'd quit her job. She looked at her Nan for a moment, wondering what to say.

And then, she told her everything- because she just needed to tell someone, so she didn't feel like she was stuck on her own with the weight of the James' secret.

"Well… shit." Her Nan mumbled, although she hadn't been as surprised as Molly had thought she might be. They both sipped at their mugs of wine again.

"Yeah." Molly sighed.

"What are you going to do?" Her Nan asked.

"What do you mean? I told you, I quit. I can't just stand there and watch." The idea made her feel sick.

"I think I might have an idea." Her Nan smiled. Molly shook her head, anything her Nan suggested usually ended badly. "Oh don't look at me like that, this one is a good one I promise!" Her Nan laughed, refilling their mugs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Ten**

To say the James family had looked surprised when she'd turned up the next day was an understatement. As she'd stood in the drawing room where she'd been interviewed, explaining to them what she wanted to do they'd looked even more confused. Mrs James regained control of her face after a few minutes and that completely emotionless expression she seemed to wear all the time returned. His sister glowered at her from the sofa. Mr James just shared at her like he was trying to work out quite what was going on. It wasn't quite the enthusiastic response she had been hoping for.

"But what is it you actually want to do?" Mr James asked eventually.

"I don't know exactly." She admitted. "I need to do some research and see what is actually possible. I just wanted to find out if you'd actually be willing to let me do it before I spent ages making plans."

Mr James didn't get a chance to answer, Mrs James cut in before he could speak. "So let me get this straight… you want to take Charles away from the house on some kind of 'adventure'?" The way she said it made it sound as though Molly had suggested they let her perform surgery on him while blindfolded.

"Yes." She forced herself to keep smiling. "Like I said I'm not sure exactly what is possible yet, it's just about showing him what's out there and what is possible."

"Are you talking about going abroad?"

"Abroad?" The question took her by surprise. "I was thinking more like getting him to the pub or something to start with."

"Charles has barely left the house in two years apart from hospital appointments." There was something about Mrs James' tone that made it sound like she was desperate to shoot down Molly's idea in flames. It irritated her.

"Well, Yes…. but I thought I could try and persuade him."

"And of course, you'd get to go and do all these things with him." Sophie sneered at her from beside her mother.

"Look." Molly snapped. "I'm not talking about anything extraordinary okay? I'm thinking more getting him out to the pub, to watch a football match or whatever it is he wants to do. If we end up in Florida swimming with dolphins or something ridiculous then great, but I won't be holding my breath." She didn't add the fact that just having to drive him to the hospital made her feel like she was going to have a heart attack. The idea of her taking him abroad seemed about as likely as her running a marathon.

"I think it's a wonderful idea." Mr James said after a long pause. Molly felt the relief flood through her. "Anything that gets him out of the house for a little while would be great, if can't be doing him any good staring at these walls all day every day."

"I have tried Steven." Mrs James shot back at him, shooting him a furious glare. "It's not like I've just left him there to rot. I tried everyday for months."

"I know, but we haven't been successful have we? If Molly thinks she can come up with something he might be prepared to try then that can only be a good thing." He said softly.

"Yes, well, prepared to try being the operative phrase." Mrs James retorted.

"It was just an idea." Molly snapped, unable to keep her irritation under control any longer. "If you don't want me to do it…"

"...you'll leave?" Mrs James challenged.

Molly didn't look away like she might have done a few weeks ago. Somehow, finding out Mrs James was the kind of person who could sit there and watch her son die right in front of her had made her a whole lot less terrifying. "Yes, I probably will."

"So it's blackmail!" Molly had almost forgotten his sister was there until she spoke again. She returned the glare she was getting from her.

"Sophie!" Mr James hissed.

"Well, let's not pretend this is something else." She shot back at him.

Molly straightened up a little. "No, it's not blackmail. It's about what I'm prepared to do- and what I can live with- and what I'm not going to do is stand around here cleaning and making soup while you all countdown the days until Charles… well…."

They all stared down at their feet, looking anywhere but at her or each other. Her unspoken words hung over the room for a long moment.

"Like I said." Mr James said. "I think it's an excellent idea. I'd love to see him go on holiday and actually enjoy himself. Thank you Molly, just let us know what you need us to do."

"I've got an idea." Mrs James said quickly. Molly cringed. "Why don't you go with them Sophie!"

"Fine by me." Molly agreed quickly, mostly because she knew the chances of her ending up on some exotic holiday with Charles were around the same as the chances of her becoming prime minister- non existent.

She watched as his sister shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I can't. You know I start my new job in two weeks."

"You're going back to Australia?" Mrs James looked more horrified than she had when Molly had told them what she wanted to do. "I thought that given… recent events…. you might stay a bit longer."

"I've been working towards this job for years. You can't expect me to put my whole life on hold because of Charles' mental state." Sophie snapped. "If it was me stuck in that chair you wouldn't be asking Charles to give up his life for me!"

"Let's discuss this another time." Mr James suggested, Molly was thankful he'd saved her from having to watch another James family argument.

"Yes I think that might be best." Mrs James said tightly, looking back at Molly. "Right then, I want to know everything you're planning to do well in advance. I'll do the costings and I'd like a schedule so I can plan the time off work to come with-"

"No." They all turned to look at Mr James. "I don't think you should be going with him. He needs to be allowed to do this on his own Mary."

"Charles can't do anything on his own Steven!" Her voice was getting louder as she argued with her husband. "And I really don't think we can leave her to do it all on her own!"

" _Molly_ is more than capable I'm sure." Mr James shot Molly an apologetic smile. "And I'm sure Mark would be more than willing to help too."

"But-"

"He needs to be allowed to feel like a man, Mary. That's not going to happen if his mother is following him around the entire time."

Mrs James didn't say anything this time. Molly almost felt sorry for her, she just sat there looking more than a little bit lost as if she couldn't quite understand what her husband was doing.

"I'll keep him safe, I promise." Molly said softly. "And I'll let you know everything we are going to do well in advance….. I want him to live too." She wondered if she'd overstepped the mark with that final comment. It was the truth though, she didn't like to think about quite how attached to him she'd become in the last couple of months. It was difficult to imagine her life without him already, and that frightened her.

"We know." Mr James smiled. "And we do appreciate your enthusiasm, and discretion." She couldn't help if that last part was about Charles or what he got up to when his wife was away. Worked for both she supposed.

He stood up and Molly realised that was her signal to leave. She got the sense there was going to be a lot more discussion about this once she was out of the room. She just hoped Mrs James didn't manage to convince them all she was incompetent and it was a terrible idea to let her do this.

On Saturday morning she went to the library for the first time ever. She needed a couple of hours peace and quiet so she could work out what she was going to do with Charles somewhere that wasn't full of screaming kids and her parents arguing with each other so she could actually concentrate.

It worked, and two hours later she was on her way home again with her list folded up in her pocket ready to pitch to Mrs James and Charles. She nipped in to WHSmith on her way home and bought a calendar- the kind of wall calendar they'd had in the nail bar to mark their holiday on.

When she got home and was safely up in her room with the door closed she'd unfolded it and pinned it to the wall behind the door. She found the date that she had started working for the James'- February 12th- and then counted forward six months and marked the date. August 12th, which was terrifyingly now barely four months away. She stared at the circle she had drawn around the date, trying to get a sense of the significance the date bore. It made her feel sick just looking at it. How was she supposed to cross the days off knowing she was just getting closer and closer to the date he'd chosen to end his life?

As she stared at the calendar she began to feel the weight of what she was taking on. She was going to have to fill each of those little white squares with a lifetime of happiness and memories. She would need to find every enjoyable activity possible and make them happen for him since he could no longer do it himself.

She had just under four months worth of printed rectangles to fill with enough days out, trips away and visitors to convince him that his life was still worth living. Then she had to persuade Mrs James to actually let her do any of it. And she still had to overcome the biggest challenge of all, getting him to actually agree to doing any of them.

She had just one hundred and seventeen days in which to convince Charles James that he had a reason to live.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Eleven**

"You look cheerful today." Charles commented as she dropped her bag by the door. He said it as though it was cause for suspicion, which in fairness to him it was.

"I am." She grinned. "Today's the day!"

"For what?" He frowned, looking at her suspiciously.

"We're taking Mark to the horse racing!" Mark and Charles looked at each other and she almost laughed.

"Horse racing?" He sounded as though he thought she was joking.

"Yes, flat racing." She tried to make it sound as though she knew what she was talking about. "We need to get going, if we leave now then we'll be there in time for the third race."

"Horse racing." He still hadn't moved.

"Yes. Mark has never been."

Charles swivelled to face Mark, studying him carefully. "This is a long held desire of yours is it, Mark?" He asked doubtfully.

Molly shot a look at Mark that made it clear he didn't want to find out what the consequences might be if he didn't play along. "Yes, yes it is." He said slowly, looking at Molly. "Always been a big fan, I'm sure I must have told you?"

"No, never." Charles answered dryly.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't argue any further. She had forwarded Mark, she'd had to ring him and ask which day she could borrow him for, but there was still a sort of her which had been worried it might not all come together. Mrs James had agreed to pay him for the extra hours, mostly Molly suspected, because she didn't want Molly going anywhere with Charles without some kind of supervision.

"And what if I don't want to go?" Charles asked.

"Then you owe me forty pounds." She answered.

"How did you work that one out?" He looked confused, and maybe a little bit annoyed. Then again, that wasn't exactly unusual for him.

"My winnings from the bet I'm going to place." She grinned. "I'm told it's a sure thing!" She didn't add that the information on this had come from Dave, which meant it was actually about as unreliable as it could possibly get. Charles didn't say anything, she seemed to have caught him rather off balance.

"Excellent, nice day for it too!" Mark grinned. "Do you want me to make some lunch?"

Molly shook her head. "There's a restaurant there, when my horse wins lunch is on me!"

"You've been racing a lot then?" Charles asked. Before he could say anything else they'd bundled him into his coat and Molly ran outside to reverse the car out.

She'd had it all planned out in her head, which in hindsight might not have been the best idea. She'd pictured them arriving at the racecourse, the sun would be shining, they'd find a space to watch from and Charles' competitive streak would kick in. He'd be determined to win more than her or Mark and then when they'd had enough of watching the horses they'd go to the restaurant and have a meal before they headed home. She should've known that nothing was ever that simple.

It all started with the car park. She'd managed to drive the whole way there without stalking, kept chatting away cheerfully so that Charles wouldn't have time to start complaining and successfully got them there without getting lost at all. There hadn't even been a queue to get into the car park. The thing that no one had warned her about when she'd spent all the time planning this, was that the car park was grass- and not the kind of immaculate turf in the James' garden, but a wet muddy field that hundreds of cars had been driving over all winter.

She'd backed into a space, but even before they had the ramp down Mark looked worried. "It's too soft." He told her. "He's going to sink."

She glanced over at the entrance. "If we can get him over to the path then he'll be okay?"

"Yeah." Mark mumbled. "But that chair weighs a tonne and that's at least forty feet away."

"Oh come on, they must build these to be able to cope with a bit of soft ground!" She tried to sound optimistic, mainly because she wasn't going to let this stop them after he'd actually agreed to go out for the day. The fact her boots were sinking into the grass didn't bode well though.

They backed his wheelchair down the ramp, then watched in horror as the wheels sank a couple of inches into the mud. Charles said nothing, as he had done for most of the journey there, as her and Mark tried to work out what they were going to do to get him back out of the mud. Eventually, between the two of them, they'd managed to haul the chair through the mud- though by the time they actually got to the path they were both panting and Molly wanted nothing more than to go and have a lie down. She picked up the blanket that had been across his lap but had caught up in the wheels and the corner was now torn and muddy.

"Don't worry, I'm sure mother won't mind. It's only cashmere." He commented sarcastically.

She decided to ignore him. "Right, now we've made it- time for the fun bit!" Charles and Mark looked far from convinced despite her attempt to stay optimistic.

The fun bit, turned out to be making it through the actual entrance of the racecourse once they'd got him onto the path. They looked at the turnstiles at the entrance, at Charles' wheelchair and then back at the turnstiles. There was no way he was going through there. Eventually Mark had managed to track down someone who'd pointed them in the direction of a disabled entrance. It was another two hundred yards away, down a sandy path that was only slightly easier to navigate than the muddy car park. She knew she was babbling away about how they'd all look back and laugh about this, it was irritating even to her own ears, but somehow she didn't seem to be able to stop.

"Dawes." Charles sighed. "Just stop, okay? You're exhausting me." By the time they'd finally made it inside the stand she was almost ready to faint with relief. They stood for a moment, simply enjoying the relief that they'd actually made it that far, Molly trying to forget about the fact they were going to have to do it all again on the way out.

The crowd around them roared into life as another race started, making Molly jump. She was surprised to find it much more exciting to watch than she'd initially thought, cheering as the horses thundered up the track and across the finish line. Charles didn't say anything, he seemed to be withdrawing deeper into his scarf and coat with each moment that passed. She supposed when you'd been stuck indoors for as long as he had then any kind of outing had to feel weird.

"This is great!" Mark grinned, coming back through the crowd clutching his winnings in his hand.

"So how many races do we have to watch to fulfil this ambition of yours?" Charles cut in, sounding less than enthusiastic.

"Don't be so grumpy." Molly scolded. "They always say you should try everything once!"

"Except I think horse racing falls into the except this category with morris dancing."

"Well, you're always harping on at me to widen my horizons or whatever it is. Maybe if you weren't putting so much effort into pretending not to enjoy it you might actually have some fun." She shot back.

He didn't say anything, and she turned her attention back to the racing. Her and Mark both found themselves cheering at the top of their voices, and she knew she wasn't going to have a voice left by the end of the day. She glanced down again to find Charles sitting there with his eyes closed, a slight frown on his face. She knelt down beside him, raising her voice so he could hear her over the crowd as they cheered the horses on.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?"

"Scotch. A large one." He sighed. He opened his eyes and looked at her. He looked totally fed up and miserable.

Her heart sank. "Why don't we go and get some lunch?" She said, more to Mark than Charles. She had the feeling he was going to argue with anything she said.

They ran over more than a few toes on their way to the lift, Molly and decided that if people wouldn't move out of the way when asked nicely then it was only fair. They did eventually make it to the lift up to the restaurant.

"When was the last time you went out for a meal?" She asked Charles as they stood in the lift.

He looked at Mark, who shrugged. "Not since I've been there."

"Yes, well strangely enough I'm not a huge fan of being spoon fed in public." Charles snapped.

"It's fine, we can get a table where you can sit with your back to the room." She had already anticipated that one.

The restaurant was half empty, which was a relief. "Hi, can we have a table for three please?" She forced herself to smile at the miserable looking waitress.

"Badge?" The woman sighed.

"Excuse me?"

"Your premier area badge?" The woman rolled her eyes. "This restaurant is for premier members only."

She glanced behind her and Mark who was helping Charles out of his coat. "I um… I didn't know."

"I'm afraid the other restaurant is being refurbished at the moment but there are still the food stands where you can get something." The woman gestured to a couple of burger vans Molly could see out of the window.

"A stall?" Molly was getting annoyed now. She'd spent so long trying to make sure this was going to be the perfect day and nothing was going the way she'd planned.

"Yes."

Molly took a step closer to make sure Charles and Mark couldn't hear her. "Please? We've come a long way and my friend isn't good in the cold. We need somewhere warm to sit. It's really important that he has a good day." She pleaded.

"Sorry." The woman wrinkled her nose. "It's more than my job is worth to let you in. There is a disabled seating area down stairs that you can shut the doors on. It's warm in there but you won't be able to see the races."

"Look!" Molly couldn't suppress her rage anymore. Why was everyone determined to ruin this day? "There's barely anyone in here, what is your problem?! We don't want to sit outside!" She glanced over her shoulder and she could see the embarrassment on Charles' face. A couple of people eating turned around in their chairs to stare.

"Well, I'm afraid you should have bought a premier badge then." The woman shrugged.

"Molly, let's go." Charles called.

Surprisingly, she could feel her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "No, look you stay here and I'll go and get the premier badges and then-"

"I'm not hungry." He shook his head.

"We'll be fine once we've eaten. We can watch the horses and it'll all be fine." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince here.

Mark stepped forward and put his hand on her arm. "Molly, I think Charles wants to go home. Come on."

Unable to help herself she turned back to the waitress who was now standing there smirking. "Thank you for being so fucking accommodating!" She snapped.

"Dawes." She could hear the warning in Charles' voice.

"It's wonderful just how helpful you've been, I'll certainly be recommending you to everyone I know for your excellent service!"

"Molly!" Charles was almost shouting at her by this point. She spun around and followed him out of the door that Mark was holding open.

"I think we'd better get something from one of those stands before we go, it's been a few hours since we ate anything." Mark suggested in the lift back down. He glanced at Charles as he said it and Molly knew who he meant by we.

They'd bought three rolls from the hog roast van and Molly and Mark had perched on a wall just in front of the van. Charles sat facing them. She shredded his into small manageable bites in between mouthfuls of her own. She could see the two women serving behind the counter watching her, whispering to each other like they thought she couldn't see them. She knew what they'd be saying. _Poor man, what a way to live._ She glared at them to make it clear that she knew what they were doing and they hurriedly looked away. She felt her stomach twist as she realised this was how Charles felt every time he went out.

Getting back to the car once they'd finished eating had been easier said than done. Less than 200m from the car the chair had got stuck in the sea of mud and there was no way they were going to be able to move it.

"It's not going to happen." Charles sighed.

"We're going to need help." Mark agreed quietly. Charles looked the most fed up she'd ever seen him.

"I could probably lift you into the front seat Charles and then me and Molly can sort the chair out afterwards." Mark suggested after a moment.

"I am not ending today with a fireman's lift." Charles answered through gritted teeth.

"Sorry mate." Mark grimaced. "But Molly and I won't be able to do this on our own…. Molly, you're prettier than me go and see if you can grab us a couple of extra pairs of hands will you?"

She couldn't believe how many people refused to come and help them. She wasn't usually good with strangers, but her sheer desperation made her fearless and she grabbed anyone she could find and begged them to help her. She'd eventually collared a stag-do, but even they had been reluctant to come and help her when they'd realised they weren't getting anything from her in return.

Then she'd spotted the tattoo.

"He's a soldier, well ex-soldier." She pleaded. "He was injured, and we just wanted to give him a nice day out but no one will help us."

"Come on lads, we're not having that!" And off they went, across the car park so quickly she was jogging to keep up with them. She could hear them muttering amongst themselves as they went. "Bloody civies… no idea what it's like… bloody outrage."

She hadn't realised quite how drunk they were until they'd picked the wheelchair up and lurched across the car park with Charles in it. Mark gave her a quizzical look and she just shook her head. She could hear them chatting away to Charles as they carried him, asking him about what he'd done in the army. She couldn't make sense of half of what he was telling them, but they sounded impressed and Charles didn't look quite so unhappy.

By the time they'd finally managed to get rid of the stag-do they'd all given her their numbers, much to Mark's amusement and promised to call her- despite the fact she'd managed to avoid giving her number to any of them.

"Well, they were helpful." She smiled as she slowly drove them back out of the car park. She was trying to stay cheerful.

"The bald one dropped an entire can of beer down my leg." Charles commented. "I smell like a brewery." He didn't say much the whole way home, he said goodbye to Mark as they'd dropped him off at home and then went back to staring out of the window in silence.

When they got home she helped him change, mainly because she wanted to wash the stench of beer off his clothes before Mrs James turned up. She made them a cup of tea each and they sat down to watch the news as they always did. It wasn't until then she realised that he wasn't talking- not because he was tired or because he was concentrating on the tv- but because he wasn't talking to her.

"Is everything okay?" She asked hesitantly.

"You tell me, Dawes."

"What?" She frowned.

"Well, you know everything there is to know about me. You tell me." He didn't look at her as he spoke, he just stared straight at the tv.

"I'm sorry today didn't turn out the way I planned." She sighed. "I just wanted us to have a nice day. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"That's my point."

"What?" She was totally lost again.

"You're no different from the rest of them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She could feel herself getting defensive, but he was really winding her up.

"If you'd actually bothered to ask me Dawes, then you would've known that I hate horse racing. I always have. But you didn't ask, you decided that you'd like me to do it so off we went. You decided for me, just like everyone always does."

Her stomach flipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"But you did." He turned his chair slightly so he was facing away from her, and a couple of minutes of silence she realised she'd been dismissed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Twelve**

She could still to that day remember the exact moment she'd stopped being fearless. It was seven years ago, she'd been in Hyde Park with a group of her friends from a school- they'd been working as stewards at an event for some extra cash. She'd been planning not to tell Dave and stash the money with the rest of what she'd slowly siphoned out of her wages and was planning to use to her herself as far away from there as possible.

They'd all met up, wanting to celebrate the fact that the long days of standing in the scorching sun were over and they'd survived. She'd squeezed herself into a stupidly tight pair of jeans, low cut top and the highest heels she could find. She wasn't sure how she'd actually managed to walk in them to get there.

She'd been full of ideas and ambitions, mostly things that meant she'd get as far away from her parents as possible. She'd bought a cheap flight to Australia, convinced that she was going to go over there and 'find herself' or whatever it was people her age seemed to do- despite the fact she'd hardly ever left London and the idea terrified her, but as much as she'd miss them she needed to get away from her family.

The celebrations that they'd survived the job mainly involved getting drunk on the cheapest booze they could find. Some of the boys who'd been working at the event with them, and whose names she couldn't remember, had joined them. They'd sat drinking and laughing for hours, she'd kicked off her stupid shoes in the grass and laid back to stare at the sky. She didn't even realise for a while that all the other girls had gone. Artan had come and found her a couple of hours later, she'd forgotten all about the fact she was supposed to be meeting him.

* * *

"This will make you laugh, I've joined the library." She told him. He spun round to face her, looking up from his CD collection. She put his drink in the cup holder for him.

"Really? What are you reading?" He looked at her like he thought she might be winding him up.

"Nothing sensible, just some trashy romance things. You would like them." She laughed.

"You were reading my Flannery O'Connor the other day, when I was ill."

"The short stories?" She felt her cheeks flush as he looked at her. "I can't believe you noticed that you were out of it."

"I couldn't help but notice. You left it beside my bed and I can't pick it up." He smirked.

"Ah."

"So take them home and finish reading them rather than that other rubbish." He smiled.

She was about to say no, then realised she didn't actually know why she was refusing. "All right, I'll bring them back as soon as I'm finished."

"Put some music on for me Dawes." He said, his mind already having moved on.

"Alright, what do you want?" She asked. He nodded his head in the general direction it was in until she managed to find it. She put the CD on and turned back to face him as the music filled the room.

"I have a friend who plays violin, this piece of music is his. He's playing nearby soon, he offered me some tickets. You should go, take your mum?" He suggested out of the blue.

She snorted with laughter. "You can tell you've never met my family. We don't do classical music, I mean there was that one time I dropped the radio and it got stuck on classic fm for a bit I suppose…"

"You've never been to a concert?" He looked shocked as she shook her head.

"Well I did go and see Westlife with my Nan once if that counts?"

He gave her one of his looks, the kind that suggested he thought she'd been locked in a cellar somewhere for several years. "You should go, it'll do you good!"

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm not some sort of project for you to send out to see the world. I'm not that sort of person anyway."

He shook his head, and for a minute he looked almost angry. "You can't just say you're not that kind of person. How do you know? You've never tried anything!"

She glared at him for a moment. He was infuriating at times.

"Go on, open your mind."

"No."

"Why?" He frowned.

"Because look at me, they'll all know I don't fit in and look at me like I shouldn't be there." She sighed.

"How do you think I feel?" He asked. They stared at each other for a long minute. "Every single place I go people stare at me like I don't belong. Why do you think I don't go out?"

She thought for a moment. "I'll go if you come with me."

"But you won't go on your own?" He asked.

"Not a chance in hell mate." She snorted.

There was another silence while he thought about it. "God you're a pain in the ass Dawes, has anyone ever told you that?"

"So you keep telling me." She grinned.

She didn't make any plans this time. She had no expectations after the debacle of their visit to the races, but she was quietly hopeful that he still seemed to be prepared to go out. His friend had sent the promised tickets, and an information leaflet on the venue. She'd phoned ahead to check how they'd be seated and what the parking situation was. They'd seat her on a fold out chair beside Charles, the best seats in the house the woman on the phone had told her cheerfully. She had even offered to have someone meet them and escort them to their seats, Molly thanked her but said no- she knew Charles would feel uncomfortable.

As the evening approached she couldn't work out which one of them was more nervous. Mrs James didn't help either, popping in every five minutes to question some tiny detail that she thought Molly might've forgotten. She repeatedly asked what time they'd be home. His evening routine took time she said, repeatedly- at least an hour and she needed to make sure there would be someone there to help. Mark had other plans and Mr James was out, from the look on her face Molly suspected she probably knew exactly what her husband was up to.

She realised, as Charles told her just how tedious his evening routine was, that he was trying to use it as an excuse to get out of going. "I'll do it, I can stay and help as long as Charles doesn't mind telling me what to do."

"Well isn't that something for us both to look forward to." He answered grumpily. "You get a good look at my backside and I get a bed bath from someone who falls over them self at the sight of naked flesh."

"I do not!"

"Dawes I've never seen someone look so uncomfortable about the human body. You act like it's something radioactive." He smirked.

"Let your mum do it then!" She glared at him.

"Yeah because that makes the idea of going out so much more appealing." He sighed.

Then she'd had the whole dilemma about what she was going to wear. There wasn't chance in hell that she was going to have something even vaguely appropriate to wear in her wardrobe. In the end she'd struggled into work with four outfits, two of which her Nan had given her and she was doubtful about. She'd worry about it later she told herself as she struggled to carry them.

Mark arrived at 5.30 to help Charles get ready. Molly disappeared into the bathroom to finally let herself worry about what she was going to wear. The clothes she owned seemed far from appropriate, not that she really knew what posh people wore to classical music concerts. It wasn't something she did often. She tried on the jeans and tops that she'd brought with her, and the one dress she owned that wasn't indecently short. With hindsight she probably should've bought something to wear but she'd been convinced he'd find an excuse not to go and it had seemed like a waste of money.

The last thing she tried was the dress her Nan had hurriedly shoved in her bag as she'd walked out of the door. She'd got absolutely no idea where her Nan would've found it, she was almost afraid to ask her, but it was perfect. It was knee length, dark red satin and she stood there and stared at herself in the mirror for a few minutes after she put it on, it was perfect.

Her cheeks turned the same colour as the dress as she stepped out of the bathroom, having done her hair and makeup, and Mark wolf whistled at her.

"Dawes! Look at you, you look almost-"

"Unless you want Mr Muscle in your tea tomorrow I wouldn't finish that sentence." She could see Charles struggling not to laugh. She did a double take as she realised he'd changed into a suit. She fiddled with the scarf she'd tied around herself to cover up the rather low cut neckline of the dress, feeling self conscious as they both stared at her.

"Lose the scarf Dawes." Charles ordered. "If you're going to wear the dress wear it with confidence!"

"Only you could tell a woman how to wear a dress." She rolled her eyes but did as she was told. He grinned at her.

Mark disappeared off to pack the last few things into Charles' bag, leaving them alone in the kitchen waiting for him. "You look great Dawes, you really do." Charles said quietly.

They were sat right at the front, as promised. At the other end of the row was another man in a wheelchair, chatting cheerfully to the woman who sat beside him. She glanced over at Charles to see if he'd noticed them but he had sunk down in his chair, his forehead creased in a frown.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" She asked quietly.

"No." He swallowed. "Actually, Yes. There's something digging into my collar. Can you have a look please?"

She leaned over and ran her finger around the inside of the collar. The tag was still attached. "New shirt. Is it really bothering you?" She asked.

"No I thought I'd bring it up for fun."

"Are there any scissors in the bag?" She wasn't going to be able to snap it off by the looks of it.

"I don't know Dawes. Believe it or not I rarely pack it myself."

Of course there were no scissors in the bag. She glanced at the seats behind them that were slowly filling with people. "Don't move."

"What?"

Before he could say anything else she'd leant across and pulled his collar back, biting at the tag until it came off. She sat back in her seat and held the tag up triumphantly. "Got it!" He stared at her. "What?"

She swivelled in her seat to find the several rows of people behind them staring at them, they then all suddenly became very interested in their programmes the second they realised she had spotted them.

"To be honest, I think we should just be relieved it wasn't in your trousers." She whispered to him. She smiled to herself as his cheeks went red. She'd finally rendered him speechless.

He still hadn't thought of anything to say in response by the time the orchestra came out on to the stage. The audience hushed and they started to tune up. The hall was filled with music, and it was the most incredible sound she'd ever heard- it was almost alive. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

The conductor stepped up, tapped twice on the rostrum and the whole hall fell silent. She could feel the expectation in the room, and then the conductor brought down his baton and the room was filled with music. She caught Charles' eye and the smile on his face made her eyes fill with tears. She'd been worried she might be bored, but she thought this might actually be the best night of her life. She'd been so disappointed when it was over, Charles seemed to retreat back into himself a little again as the lights came back on and they made their way back outside.

He didn't really say much to her on the way home, she wondered if maybe he'd fallen asleep. As she parked the car outside the annexe and went to undo her door he spoke.

"So you didn't enjoy that at all?"

"No, hated every minute of it." She joked.

"I could tell. In fact I think you had tears in your eyes you hated it so much." He smirked.

She grinned back at him. "I really loved it. Thank you for taking me."

"He's playing at Hyde Park soon he was saying. You should go."

"Nah. I don't really go there anymore." She answered quickly. "Right we'd better get you in."

"Just wait a minute Dawes." He said quietly. She twisted around in her seat. It was difficult to see him, his face covered by the shadows. "Just hold on, just for a minute."

"Are you okay?" She could feel the panic starting, the panic that something was terribly wrong and Mrs James would never forgive her.

"I'm fine… I just….. I just don't want to go in yet. I want to just sit here and not have to think about…. I just want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress for a few more minutes."

She took her hand off the door handle. "Sure." She closed her eyes and leant back against the headrest, they sat there in silence each of them lost in their own memories.

* * *

She wasn't really sure why her and Artan had never talked about that night. Maybe it was because they didn't have the words? Or it was simply easier to pretend it hadn't happened? He'd just helped her find her clothes, hunted around in vain for her shoes which they'd eventually given up on- she would never have worn them again anyway. Then he'd held her hand the whole way home, she'd walked barefoot back from the tube station, he'd wiped the tears from her eyes and she'd gone inside and smiled and told her mum what a great night she'd had.

A week later she'd cut off most of her hair, cancelled her plane ticket and taken the job in the nail salon. She didn't need to go to Australia to find out who she was, she'd found that out already and she was a long way from the girl who'd been out drinking with her friends constantly. She didn't go out with them again, she wore nothing that could be classed as suggestive and spent most of the time she wasn't at work in her bedroom with the door locked. She'd split with Artan a few months later, probably because neither of them had been able to look each other in the eye.

She'd lost count of the number of times she'd gone past Hyde Park since then, but she hadn't ever set foot in there again after that night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Dawes." He made her jump as he spoke from behind her. "Did you just dip your spoon in my coco pops?"

"Mmmmm." She struggled to answer him through the mouthful of stolen cereal. She turned to face him to find he was giving her one of those looks again- she'd started to refer to it as his 'Captain Sternface' expression- where he suddenly seemed to turn back into the army Captain in the photo's. It made her feel like a naughty child, but she secretly liked seeing him so happy. She swallowed and turned to face him. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

"You're a terrible liar… if you wanted some you could've just had your own!" He laughed.

"I know." She grinned. "But you must know that it's much more fun this way, I live to wind you up! I can't believe you eat this stuff anyway!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, don't I know it." He grumbled.

"My Mum keeps saying she wants to meet you." She decided to change the subject. "Wants to know who I'm spending all these late nights with."

"Wants to know who manages to put up with you all day more like." He snorted.

"She wanted me to invite you out with my birthday, but don't worry I told her you wouldn't come." She grabbed him a spoon for his coco pops and walked through to the living room. He followed her.

"Why did you do that?" He frowned.

"Because you hate going out, meeting new people and eating in front of people? I figured meeting my parents for dinner was like your idea of hell." She laughed.

"I do get nervous when women start talking about wanting me to meet their parents." He joked.

"You should be more worried my Dad might try and rob you." She laughed.

"I'm coming." He announced.

"You what?" She stared at him.

"You heard me Dawes, now come on where's this cereal- I'm going to starve to death over here and my mother will never forgive you."

"You can't come." She blurted out.

"You know that's not how invitations work right Dawes?" He laughed. "I'm kind of intrigued to see if they're as bad as you make them out to be."

"Oh god, Mum's going to go nuts."

She'd only been half joking, as predicted Belinda had gone into a tailspin as soon as she'd told her that Charles was coming after all. It only got worse when she announced that they couldn't get anyone to look after the kids so she was planning to cook something special for them at home instead. Molly wasn't sure which part of it was worse- the fact Charles was going to be there in their house or the fact that he was going to have to eat something Belinda had cooked.

She stood and watched as her mum started manically tidying up as though he was going to appear within seconds of her mentioning him. "Oh god Mol, what if he needs the toilet or something? We haven't got one downstairs and you know what your dads back is like I don't think he'd be able to lift him."

"You don't need to worry about it Mum, really." Molly sighed.

"What about his food? Is there things he can't eat? Does it have to be mashed up?" Belinda carried on throwing the kids toys into a box.

"No, he just needs help picking it up. Relax mum." She was getting on Molly's nerves already.

"Well who is going to do that?"

"I will. Seriously mum, you need to relax. He's nice, you'll like him."

And so it was arranged, Mark was going to drop him off and then come back two hours later to pick him up. She had offered to drive him but they'd both insisted that she should let her hair down.

At half past seven on the dot, with the kids safely in bed, there was a knock at the door. She opened the door to find him there wearing his smart jacket and she didn't know whether to be pleased he'd made an effort or to be worried that Belinda was now going to spend the entire night worrying that she was under dressed.

"Was the ramp okay lads?" Dave appeared out of nowhere, for the first time in years looking vaguely presentable. Molly had nearly fallen over when he'd shown her the ramp he'd spent all day making to get Charles through the front door.

"It was good, I've seen worse in hospitals." Mark joked as he navigated Charles' chair through the confined hallway.

"Dave Dawes." Molly could hardly stop her mouth dropping open as Dave shook Marks hand. She cringed as he held it out towards Charles for a second before dropping it awkwardly to his side. "Sorry… I don't know how to um… I can't really shake your hand."

"A curtsy will do." Charles said with a poker face.

Dave stared at him for a moment before he cottoned on to the joke. "Ha! Very funny!" He laughed.

Charles laughed with him, and just like that the ice was broken. When she'd wheeled him through to the kitchen to meet her Mum she'd been relieved Belinda was holding a casserole dish so she couldn't try and shake his hand.

"Charles, Belinda. Belinda, Charles." She introduced them quickly.

"It's so nice to meet you! We've heard all about you!" Belinda grinned.

"Don't believe a word she says!" He laughed.

The oven started beeping behind her. "Sorry, you know what it's like cooking a roast dinner- all in the timings!" Belinda turned away and started pressing random buttons on the oven to try and stop the beeping.

"So how do we do this- have you got a special beer cup?" Dave asked, his head in the fridge before he emerged with two beers.

Molly explained to Charles that if it had been her Dad he would've had a beer cup before he had a wheelchair. Molly rummaged in his bag and found his beaker to pour the beer in. As he took a sip Molly suddenly felt self conscious as they all stood in their tiny kitchen. By the time she'd tuned back into the conversation Charles and Dave seemed to have found a shared point of reference, her general uselessness- she didn't mind though as long as it kept them both happy.

"Did she tell you she once reversed into a post when she was learning to drive and swore someone had planted it there just to catch her out!"

"You should see her putting the ramp down, it's like skiing coming out of the car sometimes." Charles told him, Dave burst out laughing. Molly was more than a little surprised they were getting on so well.

"Dinners ready!" Belinda yelled. They all piled in around the table. Charles carefully manoeuvred himself round to the place she pointed out for him. "God knows where your Nan's got too!" Belinda sighed as she sat down.

Right on cue the door swung open and crashed against the wall, followed by a stream of profanities from her Nan. Molly couldn't help but laugh at the look of confusion on Charles' face as Nan crashed in and sat down opposite him.

"Sorry, sorry! I lost track of time!"

After the introductions Charles turned his head towards her. "If you look in the back of the chair there's a little something in there for dinner." She reached her hand down into his bag and pulled it back up again to find an expensive looking bottle of champagne. "You should always have champagne on your birthday." He smiled.

"Oh look at that! Isn't that lovely!" Belinda grinned, then her face dropped. "We don't have any champagne glasses."

"These will be fine!" Charles grinned.

"Let's get this open!" Nan grabbed the bottle off the table and unwound the wire. Molly didn't miss the way she kept glancing at Charles as she did it, as though he wasn't at all what she'd expected.

The champagne was popped and poured, her birthday toasted and they could all finally start their dinner.

"I was going to say maybe this will be the year our Mol finally does something with her life but I think she already is. This job has been the making of you Mol, and thank you Charles for employing her!" Dave laughed.

"We're very proud." Belinda chipped in. "And grateful. To you. For employing her I mean."

"The pleasure is all mine." Charles smiled.

"To Molly." Dave raised his glass for another toast.

Molly felt her face flush. "Bloody hell, maybe I'll have to have a birthday more often you normally all just hurl abuse at me!"

She hadn't really thought anything of it, she was feeding Charles and she'd reached up to wipe some gravy from his lip. Then she'd spotted the way her family were staring at her. It was such an intimate gesture, but it was such a huge part of her daily life now that she hadn't even thought twice about it. They all went back to talking and eating as they realised they were staring.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, much to her relief. Dave and Belinda were completely charmed by Charles, and even Nan had been a bit more chatty by the end of the night. Dave had chatted to Charles about his life before the accident, and as Charles had chatted with him Molly had learned more she didn't know about him and his time in the army. She wasn't sure what a lot of it meant if she was honest, but it sounded impressive.

She found herself staring at him, trying to reconcile the man she knew with the arrogant man he describe his former self to be. She'd catch a glimpse every now and then, when he'd start barking orders, but she still found it difficult to imagine him in the middle of a war zone sometimes. She supposed it was because she'd never known him before.

"I think it's time for presents!" Belinda announced, sliding a small square box across the table.

"Oh mum, you shouldn't have done!" Molly scolded her. They might not have been as hard up as they had been before she took the job, but she wasn't entirely sure they had the money to spare for presents.

"Shh, just open it!" Belinda ordered. Molly pulled back the paper and opened the small blue box. Inside sat a silver charm bracelet. "We've been saving up for that, haven't we Dave? It's Tiffany!"

She put it round her wrist and held it up to look at it. "It's lovely, thank you." She smiled at them both. She didn't have the heart to tell Belinda she'd seen them on a market stall on the way home for a couple of quid and Dave had pocketed the money.

"I got you a little something too." Charles said quietly. "It's in the orange bag."

"You got Mol a present? Isn't that so lovely Dave?" Belinda cooed.

It was beautifully wrapped in shiny silver paper with a red ribbon tied around it. She had to imagine it was Mrs James, she couldn't imagine Mark helping him with it. It almost seemed a shame to tear it. Underneath was a small and expensive looking jewellery box. She opened the box and inside sat a thin silver chain with a small diamond heart pendant hanging from it. She dreaded to think how much it had cost.

"I love it, thank you." She choked out and she did the clasp up around her neck.

"There's a card in there too, open it another time." He smiled.

Everyone made a huge fuss of him when he left. Belinda had tucked a little tub full of Birthday cake into his bag and given him a kiss on the cheek. Dave, thankfully, hadn't tried to shake his hand again. He'd made a joke about going over to watch the football with him. Charles smiled and said he was welcome any time even though she'd never seen him watch a football match in his life.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to sleep and she was laying in bed staring at the ceiling she spotted his card on the bedside table. She picked it up and opened it, inside sat 10 crisp £50 notes. She stared at them for a moment, wondering if they were real. Of course they were. Inside it read:

 _Birthday bonus, don't try and argue with me, it's a legal requirement for you putting up with me. Happy Birthday Dawes! CJ_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fourteen**

May was a strange month. The news was full of stories and debates on people's right to die. A woman suffering from a degenerative disease had asked that the law be clarified to protect her husband if he accompanied her to Dignitas when her suffering became too much. A young football player who had suffered a horrific injury committed suicide after persuading his parents to take him there and the police were involved. There was to be a debate in Parliament. She'd watched the news and read the endless debates and still couldn't work out where she stood on it, weirdly it all seemed a long way detached from Charles.

They'd been gradually increasing their outings, and the distance they'd been travelling. They'd been to the theatre, to the cinema and she'd even dragged him out to see some Morris dancing, remembering his comment about it being something no one should have to go through. He'd barely managed to hold back his laughter as he'd watched.

She knew he saw the headlines. He'd got some new software which allowed him to use his computer independently and he was beginning to spend more and more time on there. She'd taken him a cup of tea one morning and found him reading about the young footballer who'd killed himself- a detailed feature about the steps he'd gone through to bring about his own death. He'd blanked the screen when he'd realised she was behind him.

The footballers parents had been ripped to shreds by the papers. How could they let him die? He had lived with his injury for almost three years, so not much longer than Charles. How could he decide he had nothing left to live for? Then she read the piece that Charles had been reading- a carefully researched piece on what had taken place. She assumed the journalist must have had access to his parents to know that amount of detail.

Leo, they said, had been playing football since the age of three. His entire life had been football and he'd been injured in what they termed a 'million to one' accident when a tackle went wrong. His parents had tried everything to try and convince him that his life still had some meaning but he had retreated into depression. He was an athlete who had not only lost his athleticism, but also lost the ability to move and at times even breathe without assistance. He got no pleasure from anything. He'd told his parents on a daily basis that he didn't want to live, and that watching other people live even half the life he had planned for himself was torture.

He had tried to commit suicide twice by starving himself, until he'd eventually been hospitalised. When he'd returned home he'd begged and pleaded with his parents to smother him in his sleep. She hadn't realised she was crying as she read it until the tears started to land on her hands.

"What was your favourite place you've ever been?" She asked him, sipping at her cup of tea. They were sitting out in the garden, enjoying the sun and the peace and quiet- Mrs James had been pacing aggressively up and down the hallway for around half an hour and the sound of her heels on the stone floor had passed irritating a long time ago.

"In terms of what?" He asked. "I climbed Kilimanjaro once, that was pretty incredible."

He never failed to surprise her. "How high?"

"It was a little over nineteen thousand feet I think, up to Uhuru Peak. Mind you I pretty much crawled the last half of it, was harder than I thought." He smiled.

"Was it cold?"

He shook his head. "No, at least not the time of year that I went. It was beautiful up there, felt like I could see to the end of the world." He was briefly lost in his memory.

"So where else have you liked?" She prompted.

"Er… Mauritius, New York, Paris, Kenya, Afghanistan…" he paused in thought.

"Did you just say Afghanistan?" She was convinced she hadn't heard him right.

He laughed. "Yeah, not in the same way I loved the rest of them- it wasn't exactly fancy hotels and relaxing, but I miss it. Really miss it."

"What's it like out there?" She asked, mainly because she was curious. She'd tried to ask him about his time in the army before but he hadn't ever been very keen to talk about and usually changed the subject quickly. Today seemed to be different.

"Hot. So bloody hot it's ridiculous, and dusty. There's nothing quite like 6 months sleeping on a camp bed in a tent in 40 plus degree heat Dawes, you have to experience it for yourself really Dawes…. what about you anyway?" He asked.

"I booked a ticket to Australia once… didn't go though. Does that count?" She shrugged.

"Absolutely not! Why didn't you go?" He sounded offended somehow, as though she'd let him down.

"Stuff happened. It's okay, perhaps I'll get there one day." She looked down at the grass.

"No perhaps Dawes! You've got to promise me you'll get out there and do something with your life!"

"Promise you? Why, where are you going?" She tried to keep her voice light.

"I just can't bear the thought of this being your life. You're too bright, too interesting to be stuck here forever." He swallowed. "You only get one life Dawes, and it's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible."

She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. "Okay. Tell me where I should go- if you could go anywhere in the world right now? And you're not allowed to say Kilimanjaro."

"Right now?" He looked confused.

"Right now." She nodded.

He closed his eyes and smiled. "I'd be in New York, sitting in Central Park with one of those outrageously big pretzels, watching everyone rushing around."

"Let's go." She said quickly, before she'd even really thought about it. Her brain struggled to catch up with her mouth, she didn't think Mr and Mrs James would argue. "We could get a flight over there, you can show me!"

"No." His answer was sharp.

"What?" Her face fell.

"No."

"But you just told me-"

"You don't get it Dawes. I don't want to go there in this thing." He gestured at his chair, his voice dropping. "I want to be there as me. I want to walk for miles and miles until my feet hurt, I want to sit on bench and watch everyone walking around. I want to be me."

"But we could try, we could-"

"No. No we couldn't." He sighed. "Because at the moment, I can close my eyes and know how it feels to be stood at the top of the Empire State Building, watching everyone on the ground go by. I can hear the car horns and smell it as if I was standing there. If I go, in this bloody wheelchair, all those memories are gone. They'll be replaced by the struggle to get up and down the kerbs, or trying to get through the crowds. It'll be about the fact we can't find a taxi to take us and the wheelchair power packs that won't charge in an American socket. Okay?" His voice and expression had hardened.

"Okay." She agreed quietly.

"So." He said after a few minutes silence. "It's a nice day, you're always keen to get me out of the house and I could do with getting away from my mother- how about we go to Hyde Park for a change of scenery?"

"No." It came out more quickly than she would've liked and she didn't miss the look he gave her.

"What's the matter? You don't like the outdoors?" He joked, but she could see him watching her face carefully.

"Something like that." She answered quickly, getting up off the bench. "Come on. We'd better go back in I've got a load of washing I need to sort."

She laid awake in bed that night, as she tended to do most nights now. She'd often lay there and wonder if he was awake too and if he was what he was thinking about. She didn't like it, her mind almost always wandered onto darker topics.

The truth was she was getting nowhere with him, time was rapidly running out and she hadn't even been able to convince him to take a holiday never mind that his life was worth living. He had found a good reason to turn down every trip she had suggested, and without being able to tell him why she was so keen to take him she had no leverage. There were seventy nine days left on her calendar, and she'd started to feel anxious again.

Apparently she wasn't the only one. Mrs James had dragged her into the hallway and then into the drawing room to interrogate her one lunch time when Mark had been there.

"Well, we're going out more." Molly said after she'd asked her how things were going. Mrs James nodded as if in agreement. "And he talks more than he did."

"To you perhaps." She have a half laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all. "Have you mentioned going away to him?"

"Not yet. I will… it's just, well you know what he's like."

"I really don't mind, if you do want to go somewhere." She said quickly. "I know we, well I, wasn't the most supportive to begin with but we've been talking about it a lot and we both think it's a really good idea."

Molly nodded politely, not really sure what to say.

"He said he'd been to your house too?" Mrs James asked. She sounded as though she didn't believe him.

"Yes, it was my birthday. My mum did a special dinner."

"How was he?" Mrs James asked, sitting on the edge of her chair as if this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened.

"Good." Molly smiled. "Really good. My Mum loved him."

"I can't remember the last time Charles agreed to eat with us." She said quietly, then she continued to probe away. She never directly asked the question she was trying to get at, it wasn't her way, but Molly knew what she was trying to ask. She wished she had the answer she was looking for.

"We've only got two and a half months Molly." She said quietly.

"I know." Molly nodded. "I'm doing my best."

"I can see." Mrs James answered softly. "We all are."

Leo had died on the 22nd of May in an anonymous flat in Switzerland with both of his parents and his older brother by his side, wearing his favourite football shirt. His younger brother had refused to go with them, but had issued a statement saying no one was more loved than his brother and how their lives would never be the same again. Leo drank the lethal solution of barbiturate at 3.47pm, and his parents said that within minutes he was in what appears to be a deep sleep. He had been pronounced dead at 4pm that afternoon by an observer who had witnessed the whole thing, along with a camera, in case there was any evidence of wrongdoing.

"He looked at peace" his mother had said. "It's the only thing I can hold on to."

She and his father had been interviewed three times by the police and threatened with prosecution. Hate mail had been posted to their house and reporters camped outside. She seemed to have aged by at least twenty years since the story had broken, and yet there was something else in her expression. Something that alongside the anger, exhaustion and grief told of a deep deep relief.

The words she'd spoken into the tv camera outside her house had haunted Molly for days. "He finally looked like my Leo again."


	16. Chapter 16

_I've had a lot of messages and reviews from people worried about the ending of this and asking me to give them a happy ending. I've spent a lot of time fretting about this and trying to decide how I feel about it. When I started writing this originally it was as a challenge to myself to see if I could actually write something that didn't have a happy ending. Then I couldn't decide if I could actually bring myself to write it. In the end I've decided to do two endings, (although it might take me a while to get around to doing both of them) you can pick which one you want to read that way and I'm hoping it'll mean you can all carry on enjoying this story. A lot have people have asked me to let there be some kind of miracle, but it's especially important to me to tell this story with the reality of the situation- very few people get to have that miracle, and for the majority of people they're left to face the fact that there won't be a cure or a miracle in their lifetime and they have to learn to adapt to their new reality and live with the knowledge they'll never get to do everything they wanted to do- and as in this case, some people decide that they'd rather not live at all._

 _Thank you all for sticking with me this far, I hope you will continue to read but of course I understand that some people won't want to read any further. I've spent a lot of time thinking about it and I really hope I can find away to keep everyone happy._

 _Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed, it's really appreciated._

 _Bex_

 **Chapter Fifteen**

"Come on the Dawes, fill us in on what you're doing with your weekend?" Charles asked.

They were in the garden. Mark was doing his physio- gently moving his knees up and down towards his chest while Charles lay on a blanket, his face turned towards the sun as though he was sunbathing. She sat on the grass beside them eating her sandwiches. She rarely went out at lunch time anymore, she didn't feel like she needed the escape.

"Why?" She frowned. He didn't usually ask those kind of questions so there had to be an ulterior motive.

"I'm curious to know what you do when you're not here!"

"Well, tonight I've got martial arts, then a flight over to Vegas for a couple of wild nights and I'll be back just in time to go to work on Monday with a bit of luck." She answered sarcastically. He smirked at her. "I don't know, looking after the kids and finishing my book?" She shrugged.

Charles glanced up at Mark and grinned. "I believe you owe me a tenner."

"Every bloody time." Mark grumbled, shaking his head.

Molly stared at them. "Every time what?"

"He said you be reading a book or looking after the kids. I said you'd be going out." Mark sighed. "He always wins."

"You've been betting on how boring my life is?" She asked, unable to quite believe what she was hearing.

"That's not the word I would've used." Charles answered, looking a little bit guilty.

She sat up straight, glaring at them both. "Let me get this straight, you were actually placing bets on me being at home on a Friday night?"

"No- Mark had you down to be going out drinking." Charles smirked.

Mark released his leg and moved round to his arms.

"What if I had been doing something completely different?" She asked, still quietly angry at them both.

"But you're not." Mark laughed, fishing a tenner out of his pocket.

"You're wrong actually." She reached over and plucked the money out his hand. "Because thanks to you I'm going to the cinema now!"

"You said you were finishing your book!" Charles protested.

She smirked at him. "Well, now I have this I'm going to the pictures- I guess you both lose!" She laughed. She stood up and walked away from them, still smiling, but for a reason she couldn't quite understand her eyes started to fill with tears.

She'd spent an hour working on her calendar before she'd left for work that morning. Some days she just sat on the floor and stared at it, sharpie in her hand as she tried to work out where she could take him next. She scoured the internet looking for ideas, after the whole racing debacle she was too afraid to take him anywhere that involved grass incase he got stuck again and she'd ruled out anything involving horses. With those two out a surprising amount of events were off limits. Some days she felt crippled her her own inability to think of new ideas.

Perhaps Charles and Mark were right- she was boring. She was probably the least equipped person to come up with things to give his life some meaning again. After all, what had she actually achieved in her own life other than working to bail her parents out?

After Mark had left Charles found her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes for his dinner. He stopped in the doorway, and even though she didn't look up from what she was doing she could feel him staring at her.

"You know." She said finally. "I could've been really horrible to you back there and pointed out that you don't exactly do much."

"I'm not sure Mark would've given you great odds if you'd bet on me going out dancing tonight." He joked.

"The point is you made me feel really crap. If you were going to bet on my boring life did you have to make me aware of it? Couldn't you have just kept it as a private joke?"

"Sorry."

"You don't look sorry." She shot back, noticing the slight smile on his face.

"Okay, maybe I wanted you to hear it so it'll make you think about what you're doing…." He answered.

"What about how I'm letting my life go by?" She shot back sarcastically.

"Yes, actually."

"Bloody hell!" She nearly sliced her fingers off on the peeler, not looking what she was doing at all he'd wound her up so much. She didn't even care. "Have you ever considered that maybe I don't want to go skydiving or climb a mountain or whatever it is you're so sure I could be doing? Maybe I like sitting at home because it's one of the rare times I get five minutes to myself and I'm bloody exhausted! What if I don't need to fill my days with activity?"

"One day you might wish you had." He said quietly. "Do you know what I'd be doing, if I were you?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me." She sighed.

"Yes." He smiled. "I'd be finding something that I loved, really loved, and excited me. Something that I wanted to do every day for the rest of my life and I'd be doing whatever it took to get it."

"Yeah yeah, but I'm not you." She dismissed him.

"Luckily for you." He said quietly.

"What did you used to do after work?" She ventured after a moment of silence between them. She could never quite work out if she could get away with asking him about his life before or not.

"Everything." He smiled. "It drove Rebecca nuts. I'd disappear for months and then when I came back and she just wanted to sit at home and be together I'd want to be out kayaking and swimming. Rock climbing. That sort of stuff."

"That's all well and good if you've got money." She muttered under her breath.

"Yes." He nodded. "But I made my money by finding something I loved and working hard at it."

She didn't like to add that she somehow had doubts that the James family had ever been skint anyway. "You make it sound so simple." She sighed, picking up the pot of potatoes and putting it on the top of the cooker. She cleared the chopping board away and then leant back against the worktop and looked at him.

"It is."

"You had a big life, didn't you?" She asked eventually.

"Yes Dawes, I did. That's why you piss me off so much. I look at you and I see all this-"

"Oh god please don't say potential." She cringed.

"Potential and I can't for the life of me understand how you're happy to waste it all working yourself to death to keep bailing your parents out." He sighed.

"This is your way of trying to tell me I should be doing something better than peeling your potatoes."

"What I'm telling you is there's a whole world out there Dawes, but I am quite hungry so feel free to do my potatoes first." He grinned.

"Don't you think-" she stopped, not sure if she should carry on.

"Go on." He prompted.

"Don't you think maybe this is harder for you because you've done all that stuff?" She asked hesitantly.

"Are you asking me if I wish I'd never done it?" He frowned.

"I was just wondering, if it might've been easier for you to adapt and live like this if you hadn't lived such a full life before." She looked down at her feet, wishing she'd never said anything. She had a habit of saying too much around him.

"I won't ever regret the things I've done Dawes. Most days the memories of those things are the only place my mind has got to go while my body is stuck here in this chair or in bed. They're my escape."

Two days later he ended up in hospital with an infection. A precautionary measure they said, although it was obvious to everyone he was in a lot of pain. She'd learned that while some quadriplegics had no sensation at all below their injury, Charles was impervious to temperature but could feel both pain and touch. She'd gone to visit him twice, taking him things to eat and his music from home. Strangely though, she had felt in the way, and she had realised quite quickly that he didn't actually want the extra attention while he was stuck in there. He told her to go home and have some time to herself, reluctant she had agreed.

She seized the opportunity to work on her calendar. She browsed the internet looking for inspiration and places to take him once he was feeling better. She ventured into a chat room for people with spinal injuries. It was an eye opener. There were hundreds of people on there- those who'd been injured themselves, their loved ones and a few people like her. It had taken her a while to pluck up the courage to post a message on there but she'd done it eventually, mainly because she was hoping someone on there might be able to think of something to help him that she'd been missing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Come on then Dawes, tell me what's wrong." He asked, turning himself slightly so he faced her.

She blinked, trying to get her bearings. The film they'd been watching was now a steady stream of credits rolling up the screen. "Sorry." She mumbled. "It's just warm in here."

"This is the third time this week you've fallen asleep." He commented. "And you look bloody awful."

"Cheers." She rolled her eyes, she knew he wasn't going to let it drop though. She found herself telling him about the latest in Dave and Belinda's ongoing arguments, not that she even paid enough attention to them to work out what it was about, and how she was now sharing a bed with Bella because Belinda refused to be in the same room as Dave and so was sleeping in Molly's bed. The end result had been next to no sleep for any of them.

"You need to get out of there Dawes." He frowned.

"Yeah good one." She laughed. "How do you think I'm ever going to afford to pay Mum and Dad's rent and find somewhere for me?"

"Okay." He said slowly. "If not permanently then you at least need to find yourself somewhere to go for a few nights until all this blows over."

"It'll be fine, really." She told him, getting up to turn the tv over. She always felt guilty, complaining to him- next to his problems seemed so trivial.

He seemed preoccupied for the rest of the afternoon. She sat in front of his computer scouring the chat rooms she'd found online in the hope that someone might have come up with some kind of amazing suggestion that she should've thought of sooner. She'd written a list the other night, trying to trick her brain into coming up with something new- the trouble was the list of things they couldn't do massively outweighed the things they could. The online forums hadn't been very helpful to her really- there were eight weeks to go and she had totally run out of ideas. She went home and sat cross legged on her bedroom floor and stared at the calendar again like something might've changed.

* * *

She'd decided that the worst part about working as a career was not what everyone always assumed. It wasn't the lifting and cleaning, or even the constant smell of disinfectant that seemed to follow her around. It wasn't even the assumption people made that she was only doing it because she wasn't smart enough to do anything else. No, it was the fact that when you spend that much time in such close proximity to someone else there is no escape from their moods, or even your own.

Charles had been distant all morning. It wasn't anything that anyone would've noticed, there were fewer jokes and less casual conversation. He didn't quiz her about the headlines of the day. He just wasn't quite himself and she couldn't put her finger on it.

In the afternoon there was a knock at the door. She'd hurried to answer it, her hands still dripping wet from doing the washing up and found a man standing there in a navy suit carrying a briefcase. She'd tried to shut the door on him immediately, assuming he was trying to sell them something- like those dodgy blokes that kept trying to convince Belinda she needed to replace the windows at home.

"I'm here to see Mr James." He looked at her in confusion, his foot stuck in the door the only thing that had stopped her slamming the door in his face straight away. She opened the door cautiously, in all the time she'd been there she'd never known anyone come to visit Charles via the back door.

"Let him in Dawes!" Charles had appeared behind her. "He's a friend, I invited him."

The man stepped through the doorway and held out his hand which Molly reluctantly shook. "Michael Lawler." He smiled.

He was about to say something else but Charles cut in to stop him. "We'll be in the living room. Do you mind making some tea please Dawes?"

"Um… okay."

Michael Lawler smiled at her, somewhat awkwardly, and followed Charles into the living room. When she took the tea in they were discussing cricket- a conversation that continued for so long she couldn't find any other reason to carry on lurking and had to leave them to it.

Mr Lawler stayed almost an hour. She did a load of washing, most of the ironing and was about to start cleaning the kitchen. She was still running through all the potential scenarios in her head as to why Charles had asked this man to use the back door. He obviously didn't want his parents to see him- but she still want sure why.

He didn't look like a doctor, physiotherapist, dietician or one of the other stream of professionals that were sent round every now and then to check on Charles. She could spot them a mile off- they all had the same exhausted, yet cheerfully determined expression. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Mr Lawler eventually emerged from the living room with his briefcase under his arm. He no longer looked awkward.

"Thank you, Michael." Charles called from the doorway. "I'll wait to hear from you."

"I'll be in touch later this week." Mr Lawler nodded.

"Email would be better than letter please."

"Yes, of course." Mr Lawler smiled, Charles smiled in return and then disappeared back into the living room as Molly opened the door to show his 'friend' out.

"Have you got far to go?" She asked him, she wasn't sure what she was fishing for but she needed some kind of information to help her work out who he was.

"Just back to Regent Street." He smiled. "Thank you for the tea Miss…."

"Dawes."

"Miss Dawes, thank you." He smiled once more, and then turned to walk back up the driveway.

She didn't go back in straight away, pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapping 'Michael Lawler Regent Street' into google. The first three results that came up answered her question- 'Michael Lawler, practitioner at law, specialist in wills and probate.' She clicked on the link to check it was definitely the same man, but the picture confirmed it was definitely him. Her stomach twisted as she tried to work out what this meant.

The trouble with keeping Charles' plan from her family, was that she had to deal with her anxiety about it by herself too. She spent the next couple of nights lying awake with her thoughts racing trying to work out what he was up to.

There was just over seven weeks left.

Charles was definitely making plans, even if she wasn't.

The following week they both just seemed to be going through the motions. She cooked and cleaned, they made small talk. He didn't insult her or make any jokes.

Mark watched them both as though he was observing a new species. "You two had a row or something?"

"I don't know." Molly sighed. "You'd better ask him."

"That's exactly what he said." He looked at her sideways, she continued peeling potatoes and refused to meet his eye.

She'd lasted three days after Michael Lawler's visit before she caved and phoned Mrs James. She'd asked her if they could meet, somewhere other than the house, and Mrs James had quickly agreed to meet her in the Costa at the end of the road. Molly sat there for ages, staring at her tea as she waited for Mrs James to turn up.

"Molly, sorry I'm late!" Mrs James arrived at the table looking flushed and out of breath, as though she might have been running. Molly was always surprised the woman could walk in those heels so running was seriously impressive. "I was held up in court."

Molly fought the urge to stand up. There was never a time where she was speaking to Mrs James and didn't feel as thought she was being interviewed.

"Sorry, to get you out of work. I… I just wasn't sure it could wait." Molly mumbled.

Mrs James went to grab herself a coffee then sat down opposite her, looking at her expectantly.

"Charles had a lawyer come to the house. He does wills and probate." Molly blurted out, there wasn't going to be a nice way to start the conversation.

She looked like Molly and just smacked her in the face. Molly realised far too late that Mrs James might've thought that she had some good news for her.

"A lawyer? Are you sure?" She asked quietly.

Molly nodded. "His name is Michael Lawler."

"Did Charles tell you this?" Mrs James' knuckles had gone white as she gripped her mug.

"No." Molly admitted. "I googled him I wanted to find out who he was."

"How is he in himself? Have you come up with any more ideas for places to go?" She asked hesitantly, like she wasn't really sure she wanted to know the answer.

"No, he's not keen." Molly explained to her about New York and all the other places she'd suggested they could go.

"Anywhere." Mrs James said, finally. "Anywhere you want to go, I'll finance it. I'll pay for you and Mark… everything. Please, just see if you can get him to agree to go?"

"I will." Molly agreed quietly.

"Is there anything you can think of….to buy us some time? I'll pay your wages beyond the six months obviously." Mrs James' face had completely leached of colour and she looked ill- Molly knew the feeling.

"That's… that's not really the issue."

They finished their drinks in silence. "I've got to get back to work, but call me if you think of anything. I think it might be best if we talk about this away from the house."

"Okay, I'll let you know." Molly agreed, and just like that Mrs James was gone. She'd hoped she'd feel better for sharing this with her, but the knot in her stomach was still there.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Seventeen**

He'd been so insistent that he wanted to go to Hyde Park on their way home that she'd run out of reasonable excuses as to why they couldn't go. Her stomach knotted and her knuckles went white, her hands shoved into her pocket as she tried to remind herself to breathe. Charles was still talking to her, she couldn't actually hear what he was saying. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Why has she let him talk her into doing this?

The further they walked into the trees the worse it got. She had to keep reminding herself that Charles was right there, that she was no longer that stupid girl who drank too much and put herself in those situations. It was broad daylight, there were people all around-she was safe.

Almost from nowhere the sheer panic rose inside her. She thought she saw a man darting in between the trees. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked around to reassure herself that she knew where the exit was, only to realise she couldn't see it any more. She could hear their voices, catcalling and the mocking laughter. She felt her feet away drunkenly under her high heels, the rough bark of the trees scraping her arms as she fell against them and tried to steady herself.

"I want to go now." Her voice slurred. "I've had enough I want to go home now." She jumped as someone caught her, their arm around her waist.

"You can't go yet, you'll spoil the game." His breath was warm on her neck and smelt of beer.

She had known, just from the feel of his hands around her waist. Something had changed, some kind of balance and shifted and restraint on behaviour had started to evaporate. She had laughed, pushed his hands away as if it were some kind of joke, unwilling to let him know that she knew. Then as he'd called for his friends she'd shoved him away as hard as she could and run as quickly as she could in what she thought was the direction of the exit, her heels sinking into the grass.

She could hear them all around her, their voices amongst the trees. Her throat tightened and her head spun as she tried to keep running. She couldn't work out where she was. Every corner she turned just seemed to lead to more trees. She briefly stumbled into an opening, only to realise that she was back where she'd started. They all stood there, as if they'd just been waiting for her all along.

"There you go." One of them said, grabbing her by the arm. "I told you she was up for it. Come on Mol, give us a kiss and we'll show you the way out."

Their faces were all a blur. "I just…. I want… I just want to get home."

"Come on Molly, you like me! You've been sitting on my lap all night. One kiss. How hard is it?"

She heard the rest of them snigger. "And then you'll show me the way out?" Her voice was small.

"Just one." He moved closer, his lips on hers and his hand squeezing her thigh before she could react.

He broke away and she saw the look on his face had changed. "Now Jakes turn." Someone had hold of her arm, there was a hand in her hair and another mouth against hers.

"Charles." She sobbed. She was sobbing, she hadn't even realised, slumped over against a tree.

"Molly? What's the matter?" His voice sounded far away.

She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible. Her breath caught in her throat with every new sob that racked her body.

Then he was in front of her. "I'm sorry." She whispered, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. I can't…. I can't do it."

He lifted his arm a couple of inches, all he could manage. "Oh Jesus, come here Dawes." He leant forwards and then looked down at his arms in frustration. "Bloody useless things. It's okay, just breathe. Nice and slowly."

She drew in a couple of shaky breaths, her heart was still pounding in her ears.

"I'm sorry, I could see you didn't want to come I just thought you were being…"

"I just want to go now, please?" She asked quietly.

"Come on, hold my hand. We'll go now." He had her out of there in minutes. He knew the place like the back of his hand, he used to run there all the time when he came back to visit his parents he told her. She felt foolish when she realised how close they'd been to the entrance the whole time.

They stopped at a bench just outside, she fished a tissue out of his bag. They sat there in silence, her on the end of the bench beside him, both of them waiting for her quiet sobbing to subside.

"So…?" He said when she finally looked like she might be able to speak without falling apart. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

She twisted the tissue in her hands, unable to look at him. "I can't." She said quietly. She could see the look on his face out of the corner of her eye. "It's not you. It's just…. I haven't ever told anyone about it and well… it's stupid and a long time ago…"

There was a long silence. "Okay, here's a thing." He said slowly. "I'll tell you something I've never told anyone before. All right?"

"All right."

He took a deep breath. "Sometimes, I get really really scared about how all this is going to go." He paused for a second, then carried on, his voice low and calm. "I know everyone thinks living like me is the about the worst thing that can happen but it could get so much worse. I could end up not being able to breathe by myself, or talk. I could end up with circulation problems and my limbs could have to be amputated. I could end up in hospital indefinitely. This isn't much of a life Dawes, but sometimes when I lay in bed at night and think about how much worse it could get I actually feel like I'm going to suffocate."

He paused again, and looked at her as if to check she was still listening. "And no one wants to hear about that stuff. No one wants to listen to me talking about being afraid or in pain, or how I'm scared of dying from some stupid and random infection. Nobody wants to listen to how it feels to know you'll never have sex again, never eat food you've made with your own hands or hold your child. Nobody wants to listen to me talk about how claustrophobic I feel sat in this chair sometimes. I want to scream like a madman half of the time. My mother is hanging on by a thread and can't forgive me for still loving my father. My sister is furious about the fact that I've managed to overshadow her again and because I'm stuck in a wheelchair she's not really allowed to be angry at me. My father just wants it all to go away. Ultimately they're all just trying to look on the bright side. They all need me to be positive so that they can believe there is a bright side and it's exhausting Dawes."

And so she told him. She reached for his hand and took comfort from the feeling of his fingers laced with her own. She looked down at her feet, drew in a breath and told him everything. How they laughed at her and made fun of how drunk she'd got. She told him how she'd passed out, and how Artan had said later that it might actually have been for the best, but in reality the not knowing what had actually happened during that half an hour had haunted her every day. Her mind had filled in the blanks for her, their laughter, bodied and words. She saw their faces everywhere she went, every time she passed the park she could feel their hands on her body all over again.

"You don't need me to tell you it wasn't your fault." He said quietly.

"I drank too much." She said quietly. "I flirted with them and…"

"No, they were responsible for what they did." He said firmly.

Nobody had ever said those words to her. The sympathetic looks Artan had given her had always held a little bit of accusation. _Well if you will get drunk with people you don't know….._

His fingers squeezed hers, it was a tiny movement but she felt it. "Molly it wasn't your fault."

She cried again, not breathless sobs like earlier but silent tears that rolled down her face. He just sat there with her silently, his hand still interlinked with her own.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Disneyland is good."

"I told you no theme parks." Molly sighed into the phone.

"I know you said that but it's not all rollercoasters. There's the film studios and the science centre. It's actually very educational."

"It's a holiday not a school trip."

"There's disabled toilets everywhere and the staff are very accommodating."

"You're going to tell me there's rides for handicapped people next aren't you?" Molly rolled her eyes even though the woman couldn't see her.

"They accommodate everyone, Miss Dawes. Why don't you give it a try? They are one of the top rated companies for dealing with disability. They do the make a wish stuff for people who are dying all the time."

"He's not dying!" Molly hissed into the phone, hanging up the phone just as Charles came in. She set it back in the receiver and snapped her notebook shut.

"Everything Okay Dawes?" He asked.

"Fine." She smiled as brightly as she could manage. He looked skeptical but didn't ask.

"Good. Got a nice dress?"

"What?"

"What are you doing on Saturday?" He looked at her expectantly while she stared at him, trying to work out where he was going with this.

"Um… I don't know, nothing?" She shrugged.

He grinned at her. "We're going to a wedding."

She was never entirely sure afterwards why he'd changed his mind about going to the wedding. She's suspected it was his constant need to prove people wrong- no one had actually been expecting him to go, probably least of all Elvis himself.

They decided they could manage without Mark's help. Molly had phoned to make sure the venue was wheelchair accessible and Elvis and he had sounded more than a little surprised when he realised that meant that they were actually going. She'd ended up speaking to his wife to be Georgie, who while polite had sounded rather flustered and it had been clear to Molly that the invitation had been for appearances rather than them actually wanting Charles there- Well not this Charles anyway.

They went online and Charles picked out a stupidly expensive silver photo frame to give them as a present. Molly cringed a bit at the price. She'd learned a long time ago that money meant a very different thing to the James family than it did to her. She'd seen his bank statement once when it had been left out and it contained more than enough money to buy their house twice over. She wondered briefly what it was like to write four figure cheques with it thinking about it.

She decided to wear her red dress, the same one she'd worn when they'd gone to the concert- partly because she knew that he liked it, and also because she didn't have anything else that was going to be even vaguely suitable to wear to something like this. He had no idea of the way her stomach flipped every time she thought about going to a wedding full of people who were going to look down their noses at her. She didn't say anything to him though, she knew it was going to be even worse for him.

The morning dawned bright and sunny- she'd known it would, she had a feeling from what Charles had told her that Elvis was almost certainly one of those people that everything always worked out for. Mark had come over to help Charles get ready so Molly could sort herself out. She got ready in the bathroom, pulling her tights over her freshly shaved legs, painting her makeup on and then taking it off and starting again in case any of the posh guests thought she looked like a call girl.

"Not to bad eh?" Mark stepped back as she came out of the bathroom. Charles was wearing a dark suit and cornflower blue shirt. He was clean shaven and his face had caught the sun a little in the last few weeks.

"Not too bad." She smiled, not sure she could really put into words how handsome he looked without making things weird for all of them.

"Have we got everything." Charles asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Yeah you're all good." Mark grinned. "Now have fun you two, and no snogging the bridesmaids!"

Charles' parents came to see them off. She suspected they'd just had an argument given that Mrs James couldn't have stood any further away from her husband if she'd tried.

"Don't get him too drunk Molly." She'd said, the permanent frown on her forehead even deeper.

"Why not? It's not like I'm driving." Charles laughed.

"Quite right." Mr James nodded. "I always did need a stiff drink or three to get through a wedding."

"Even your own." Mrs James added under her breath before she turned back to Charles. "You look lovely, both of you." She smiled at them.

"Yes." Mr James smiled. "You do look lovely, give us a twirl Molly."

Charles turned his chair away and Mrs James looked like she might be about to punch her husband. "We need to get going." Charles said quickly. Molly nodded in agreement, quickly helping Charles into the car.

She surprised herself by managing to drive the three hours out of London to the venue without incident. Charles had shaken his head in despair when she told him it was the furthest from home she'd ever been. He'd still been laughing when they'd arrived at the church. A man in a high vis tabard tried to direct her into a grass field opposite the church, causing quite an argument when he'd told her she'd just have to deal with it if the wheelchair sank. In the end she'd simply told him to move out of the way or she would just run him over and pulled up just to the side of the church. Charles couldn't hide his smirk.

She helped him into his suit jacket once they were both out of the car. They headed into the church, and thankfully sat through the ceremony without incident. Elvis had been stood there in his dress uniform, clean shaven and looking so nervous Molly had felt a bit sorry for him. There was another man in the same uniform standing next to him, the best man, Charles had muttered under his breath that it should've been him.

The new Mrs Harte was lovely, and just as beautiful as Molly had expected. She'd glided down the aisle, the gorgeous white dress looking as though it had been made specifically for her. Molly had felt a stab of envy, she highly doubted she'd ever get to have a fairytale wedding like this. Most of the weddings she'd been to back home the two families had to be seated apart to prevent someone breaking the conditions of their parole. Everyone in the church there on the other hand looked well presented and respectable. A lot of the men were in army uniforms, the women in outfits that probably cost more than she got paid each week. Charles had quietly told her that Elvis' wife Georgie was also in the army, which had explained why it seemed as though the entire army was sitting there in the church with them.

Charles made a beeline for the exit as soon as it was over. She did an awkward little jog in her heels to catch up with him. "Are you okay?"

He blinked a couple of times and bit his lip. "Let's go and get a drink." Everyone else was beginning to file out of the church and towards the hotel across the road where the marquee had been set up for the reception. Molly followed him. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him- what she really wanted to know was did he regret sending Rebecca away? She'd been watching him out of the corner of his eye as Elvis had said his vows, she'd seen the way his jaw was clenched, it was impossible to work out from his expression what he was thinking, but she was sure she could have a fairly good guess. The bottom line was it should've been him and Rebecca up there.

The marquee was in a lovely walled garden at the hotel. Garlands of flowers hung from everywhere, fairy lights tinkled on the ceiling. It was beautiful. The bar was already crowded, and she'd left Charles at the table while she pushed her way through the crowd. When she'd reached the bar she'd found that the only thing on offer was apparently Pimms, for now at least, so that would just have to do. The barman gave her a look that suggested he thought more or less the same as her. She took a sip, she'd never had it before but if she was honest it just tasted like lemonade so it was tolerable at least, and she walked back to the table to find Charles.

When she got there he was talking to a man in army uniform, he was crouched down with one arm leant against Charles' wheelchair. "It's just not the same without you Charlie, got no one to keep me on my toes now."

"That's nice of you to say so." Charles smiled politely but Molly could see how tense he was.

"It was weird, like you just fell off a cliff one day. One day you were there ordering us all around to get things ready for deployment and then the next we were just…"

Charles looked up, and she didn't miss the look of relief that crossed his face as she interrupted them. She placed his glass in the holder and straightened up.

"Molly, this is Freddie." Charles smiled tightly.

"I'm a friend of Charles'" she smiled at the man who was looking very confused. She wasn't sure why but she reached out to put a hand on Charles' shoulder.

"Life's not all bad then." Freddie grinned at Charles and winked, then his face flushed the same red as Molly's dress as he realised what he'd said. "Anyway, lovely to see you. I'd better go and mingle." He shot off into the crowd.

"He seemed nice." Molly raised an eyebrow, sitting down beside Charles. She took a long sip of her Pimms- it was actually quite nice, she'd been alarmed by the presence of cucumber to begin with.

"Yeah, he's a really good guy. I've always liked him." Charles nodded.

"Not too awkward then?" She asked.

"No, no more awkward than anyone else." He half smiled.

As if they'd been freed by the sight of Freddie doing so, over the next half hour or so a steady stream of people came up to talk to Charles. It made Molly feel awkward watching it- a couple had tried to shake his hand, some knelt down as if he was a small child, others towered over him while they spoke. They told tales of deployments to war zones and missions they said Charles wouldn't be able to believe unless he'd been there. They all seemed oblivious to the way Charles had gone tense and just nodded politely along with their stories. Molly wanted to scream at them all that they were just rubbing it in his face that he'd lost everything he loved.

She'd run into the bride at the bar, and been more than a little surprised when Georgie knew who she was since they'd never met each other. "How is he?" Georgie asked quietly, nodding her head in the direction of Elvis who was sat down next to Charles chatting away.

"He's okay. I think today's been a bit strange for him, but I'm really glad you invited us. Thank you." Molly smiled.

"I was really surprised when you phoned, sorry if I sounded a bit off… it's just we've all spent years trying to persuade him to talk to us and let us in and he kept pushing us all away. When Elvis came back from visiting him he was really upset. I know Charles lost everything in that accident, but Elvis lost his best friend too."

"I know." Molly agreed quietly. "I didn't know him before, but every now and then I get a little glimpse of the person he probably used to be and it's so hard to imagine him going from that to this."

"I don't think any of us will ever get our head around it." Georgie sighed quietly. She picked her drink up off the bar. "Still, from what I've seen he looks really happy with you. It's lovely to see…. anyway, I'd better go and mingle, but it's been lovely to meet you Molly." She smiled.

"And you too. Congratulations!" Molly smiled, watching as Georgie weaved her way back through the crowd, stopping to talk to Charles and grab Elvis on her way. Molly picked up the two drinks she'd ordered and headed back to the table as Elvis vacated her seat.

It wasn't until she found herself babbling away incoherently to the elderly man next to her, a tell tale sign she knew from the old Molly, that she'd had too much to drink that she even considered that her drink might have alcohol in it.

"Charles." She hissed. "Have these got alcohol in?"

"About the same as a glass of wine in each one."

She stared at him in horror. "Please tell me you're joking?" She knew from the slight spinning of the room around her he wasn't. "It had fruit in it I thought that meant they didn't have alcohol in! How am I going to drive you home?!"

"Some carer you are?" He smirked. "What's it worth for me not to tell my mother?"

She stared at him, stunned. She'd been surprised by his reaction to the entire day- she'd been expecting him to be sarcastic and bitter but instead he'd been charming to everyone. Even the arrival of soup when they'd been served lunch hadn't bothered him, instead he'd just politely asked if anyone would like to swap their bread for his soup, which two ladies on their table had quickly offered to do.

The more anxious she became about how on earth she was going to get sober enough to drive, the more carefree he became. The elderly lady on his right turned out to be a former MP who had campaigned for disabled rights- she was one of the few people there that Charles sat and chatted too without even looking slightly uncomfortable. Molly on the other hand felt much more uncomfortable sitting there listening to the people around her talking about the careers and the places they'd travelled to. They'd quickly realised she had nothing to offer the conversation and had stopped trying to include her. She felt Charles' arm slide off the arm rest and his hand landed on her arm. As she took his hand to move it back he flashed her a reassuring smile which she returned gratefully. Then he moved his chair back six inches and included her in his conversation with the lady next to him. She couldn't put into words how grateful she felt.

"So." The woman, who Molly found out was called Sharon, smiled at Molly. "Charles tells me you're in charge of him."

Molly blushed. "I try."

"Have you always worked in this field?"

"No." Molly shook her head. "I used to work in a nail bar."

"I've always wished I had steady enough hands for something like that, can barely manage to do my own!" Sharon laughed. "Still, I bet that would be a great job for someone as nosy as me. You must have heard all sorts!"

"I'm trying to encourage her to try something else, widen her horizons." Charles chipped in.

"What did you have in mind?" She asked Molly.

"She doesn't know." Charles answered. "She's one of the smartest people I know but I can't get her to see the possibilities."

"Don't patronise her dear. She's quite capable of answering for herself." Sharon shot him a sharp look. "I think that you of all people should know that."

Molly blinked, she'd never heard anyone talk to him like that. Charles looked like he was going to say something, then changed his mind. He was smiling though, much to her surprise.

"I can imagine your job at the minute takes up an awful lot of time and energy. I can't imagine this young man is the easiest to deal with every day." Sharon smiled.

"You can say that again." Molly laughed.

"But he's quite right about seeing possibilities. You should think about it at least, doesn't mean you actually have to do it." She smiled kindly. Molly was momentarily lost in thought, it had all got a bit deep and meaningful for her.

"...it's very good that you've got over the hump. I know it can be crushing to have to readjust your life so dramatically around new expectations."

Molly stared down at the remains of her lunch. She felt like she was intruding on a private conversation. She'd never heard him speak quite so openly to anyone.

"I'm not so sure I am over the hump." He admitted quietly.

"Everything takes time Charles." Sharon placed her hand on his arm. "I think it's something your generation find harder to adjust to. You've all grown up expecting everything to go your way almost instantaneously. You expect to live the lives you chose, and then when that doesn't happen it takes time to adjust."

"I'm not expecting to recover." He told her quietly.

"I know. I'm not talking about physically." She answered him. "I'm talking about you learning to embrace a new life."

Molly waited, holding her breath to see what he would say next, when Elvis stood up and tapped his glass loudly, silencing the room. She barely heard a word that was said, though the speeches seemed to last forever. She drank three coffees from the cafetière in the centre of the table in quick succession so as well as slightly drunk she then felt jittery and wired. Then the speeches ended and an army of staff appeared and started clearing a space in the middle for people to dance.

"Dawes." Charles whispered in her ear. "Take my credit card out of the bag and go and see if you can get us a room at the hotel for tonight. I don't think you're going to be driving us anywhere."

"I can't pay you back for it." She gulped. She dreaded to think how much a night there would cost.

"It's my treat Dawes, consider it a thank you for coming with me." He smiled.

By some miracle, there was two empty rooms on the ground floor and one of them was wheelchair accessible. She'd almost fainted with the relief as she'd stood at the reception desk. She had felt a bit sick when they'd told her the price as she'd handed over his credit card, but he was right there was no way she was going to be sober enough to drive them home.

"Sorted." He asked as she came back to the table. She nodded. "Good, then have another drink. In fact, have six- enjoy yourself Dawes!" He grinned.

And so she did.

Something happened, the lights dropped and it felt a lot less like everyone was staring at them. Charles relaxed even more and she actually started to enjoy herself. She took off his jacket and loosened his tie for him. They both laughed at Elvis, who'd had far too much to drink, trying to dance.

At nine she got a text from Mark, checking everything was okay. She quickly replied that everything was fine and they were actually having quite a good time, especially Charles.

She watched him laughing hysterically at something Sharon had whispered in his ear- she dreaded to think what might've been said, once she'd had a few drinks Sharon had started to tell them exactly what she thought of everyone in the room. Something in her chest grew tight watching him- it had shown her that it could work, that surrounded by the right people he could be happy. It allowed him to be Charles instead of the man in the wheelchair.

She turned her attention back to Charles, who was still deep in conversation with Sharon about someone three tables over who she really didn't like.

"What do you say?" Molly gestured towards the dance floor. "You going to take me for a whirl and give these fuckers something to talk about?" She'd definitely had too much to drink.

"What?" He looked confused.

"Oh good!" Sharon grinned, raising her glass like she was giving a toast. "Fucking marvellous!"

"Come on. While the music is slow because I think you might struggle a bit with the Macarena." Molly laughed.

She didn't give him much choice, the wine had made her brave. She gently sat herself on his lap, her arms linked around his neck. He looked into her eyes for a minute, and then much to her surprise wheeled them out onto the dance floor.

She suddenly felt very self conscious, the way she was sitting her dress had risen half way up her thighs and everyone in the room was staring at them. She went to pull it down.

"Leave it." He whispered in her ear.

"This is…."

"Come on Dawes. Don't let me down now." He smiled.

She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms back around his neck and closed her eyes, taking in the feeling of her cheek pressed against his own. She breathed in the scent of him, savouring every last second.

"Are they all appalled yet?" He whispered.

She opened one eye, hesitantly. A couple of people smiled encouragingly, the rest looked uncomfortable as though they weren't sure what to make of it. "Oh Yes." She smiled.

"Hah, good. Move in a bit closer Dawes, you smell amazing."

"So do you. Mind you if you keep doing left hand circles I might throw up in a minute."

He changed direction and she pulled back a little so she could look at him, no longer feeling self conscious. He glanced down at her chest, and to be fair to him with the way she was sitting and the cut of her dress there wasn't really anywhere else for him to look. He looked up and met her eye, raising an eyebrow.

"You'd never have even looked at me if you weren't in this wheelchair." She scolded him.

"What?" He looked confused.

"You'd have been too busy looking at all the blonde girls with the endless legs and designer clothes. Anyway, I wouldn't have been here I would've been over there serving drinks or something, totally invisible to you." She shrugged. "I'm right aren't I?"

"Yes." He nodded reluctantly. "But in my defence I might've been a bit of an ass back then."

She laughed so loudly that the few people who hadn't seen staring at them turned to look. "Sorry. I think I'm getting hysterical."

"Do you know something?"

"What?" She could've sat there and looked at him all night, memorizing every line on his face.

"Sometimes Dawes, you're pretty much the only thing that makes me want to get up in the morning."

"Let's go somewhere." The words were out before she even knew what she wanted to say.

"What?"

"Lets go somewhere, me and you. None of these…"

"Arses?" He suggested.

"... arses. Go on. Say yes, Charles." She pleaded.

His eyes didn't leave hers. She didn't know where it had come from, but she knew if she couldn't get him to say yes that night then she didn't have a chance of ever getting him to say yes.

"Please, Charles."

The seconds before he answered seemed to drag on forever. "Okay."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _Mark_

He could tell they thought no one knew, but it was clear as day to him. They finally arrived back from the wedding at lunchtime and Mrs James was so angry she could barely speak.

"You could've at least phoned me!" She snapped the second they'd reached the door.

She'd stayed home from work to make sure they got home okay. He knew, because he'd been standing in the kitchen waiting for them since 8am, and he'd been listening to the sound of her pacing up and down the hall and slamming the cupboard doors.

"I must've called you both at least 20 times! I eventually called the hotel and they told me the man in the wheelchair had checked in for the night." She continued. "How was I supposed to know you hadn't got into some terrible accident?"

"The man in the wheelchair." Charles observed. "Charming."

You could see he wasn't really bothered though, he was all loose and relaxed- even carried his hangover with humour, even though Mark had a feeling he was probably in some pain. It was only when Mrs James turned on Molly he stopped smiling. He had immediately jumped in and said that anything she had to say she could say to him, it had been his idea to stay and Molly had just gone along with it.

"I'm a grown man mother." He sighed. "I don't actually have to answer to anyone, if I want to stay in a hotel then that's up to me."

She stared at them both for a minute, muttered something under her breath about common courtesy and marched back up the hallway to go to work. Molly looked a bit shaken, but Charles had gone over and murmured something to her, and that was the point at which he saw it. She went pink and laughed, the kind of laughter you do when you know you shouldn't be laughing. It was the kind of laugh that spoke of a conspiracy. Then Charles turned to her and told her to go home and get changed, maybe get some sleep too. "I can't be seen with someone who has clearly done the walk of shame." He laughed as she pulled her coat on.

"Walk of shame?" Mark asked, struggling to keep the surprise from his voice.

"Not that walk of shame!" Molly laughed, already halfway out of the door.

He watched as Charles' eyes followed her to the door. He would've offered some good odds on something going on between them just on the basis of that look alone.

Charles deflated a little after she left, as if he'd been holding on until his Mum and Molly had gone. Mark had been watching him carefully and he realised as the smile left his face that he didn't like the look of him at all. His skin held a faint blotchiness, he winced twice when he thought no one was looking and Mark could see even from where he was standing that he'd got goosebumps. The alarm bells were ringing in his head as he watched Charles carefully.

"You feeling okay Charles?" He asked diplomatically.

"I'm fine. Don't fuss."

"Do you want to tell me where it hurts?"

He looked a bit resigned, as though he knew Mark had seen straight through him- he always did, they'd spent a lot of time together.

"Okay. I've got a bit of a headache." He admitted. "And I'm.. I do probably need my tubes changed quite sharpish."

Mark quickly moved him from his chair to the bed and started gathering equipment. "What time did Molly do them this morning?"

"She didn't." He winced, and looked a little guilty. "Or last night actually."

"What?" Mark quickly took his pulse and then checked his blood pressure- sure enough it was sky high. He put his hand on Charles' forehead and it came away with a thin sheen of sweat. He went straight for the medicine cabinet, crushed up some vasodilators and mixed them into a cup of water. He stood there and made sure Charles drank every last drop. He propped Charles up, placing his legs over the side of the bed and changed his tubes quickly, still watching him with one eye all the while.

"AD?" Charles asked quietly.

"Yeah. Not your smartest move mate." Mark sighed.

Autonomic dysreflexia was their worst nightmare. It was Charles' body's massive overreaction against pain, discomfort- or say an unemptied catheter bag- his damaged nervous systems vain and misguided attempt to stay in control. It could come out of nowhere and send his body into a complete meltdown. His breathing was laboured and his skin looked pale.

"How's your skin?" Mark asked quietly.

"A bit prickly."

"Sight?"

"Fine. Just give me ten minutes, please? If I think we're in trouble I'll tell you." Charles pleaded.

He closed his eyes and Mark checked his blood pressure again, wondering how long to leave it before he was going to have to call an ambulance. He wasn't going to tell Charles, but this scared the hell out of him. He'd had it once, when he first started working with Charles, and he'd ended up in hospital for two days.

Charles had eventually confessed to him that Molly had been so drunk he hadn't wanted to risk letting her loose on his equipment. It had taken her half an hour to get him from his chair into bed, and they'd both ended up on the floor twice. Luckily she'd had the presence of mind to phone reception and ask for help. The manager had come up and helped her lift him.

"He was a nice chap." Charles laughed quietly. "I have got a vague memory of insisting Molly give him a £50 tip for his trouble. I knew she was properly drunk because she actually did it."

"I think maybe next time you should worry a little bit more about yourself mate." Mark sighed. His own view of Molly Dawes was for far less generous.

"I'm alright Mark." Charles told him dismissively. "I'm feeling better already."

Mark checked his pulse again, letting out a sigh of relief. His blood pressure had come down and the colour was coming back into his face. They sat and chatted for a bit, Charles filled him in on the days events while they waited for everything to settle down. The one thing that Mark definitely noticed was that for once Charles looked like there was something else on his mind other than the thing that consumed him- he couldn't help but think Mrs James might not have kicked off as much if she'd known this.

They didn't tell Mrs James or Molly about what had happened- Charles had made him promise not to. When Molly came back later that afternoon though she looked pale and quiet, like her hangover might've finally caught up with her. But it became clear after a while, and some persistent questioning from Charles as to why she was so quiet, that it wasn't just a hangover that was troubling her.

"Yes well, I've had a lovely reminder of the despite the fact my parents are adults they're completely incapable of taking care of themselves and their children while I'm gone for one night." She smiled as she said it, but it was a really forced smile. Mark exchanged a look with Charles but neither of them dared to ask her what had actually happened.

He hung around for the afternoon, partly because he wanted to keep an eye on Charles after what had happened and partly because he wanted watch them both and see if his theory was right and something had happened. As he'd expected Charles hadn't looked too thrilled when he'd announced he was going to stay and watch the film with them, then he'd caught himself and said that of course he was more than welcome to stay.

So they pulled the blinds, took the phone off the hook and watched the film. He'd been lying if he said he'd followed the plot of the story at all- he was far too busy watching Molly and Charles for that. Molly sat right up close to him, handing him his drink every now and then, at one point wiping his eye when he got something in it. It was all quite sweet really, and Charles certainly looked happy, although he couldn't help but wonder what on Earth it was going to lead to.

Then when the film had finished and they'd put the blinds up, the two of them had sat there looking at each other like they were trying to decide whether to let him in on a secret. Then they told him about going away- ten days, they weren't sure where yet, but it would probably be long haul and somewhere nice- would he go with them?

He had to take his hat off to Molly, if she'd told him four months ago that they'd be taking Charles on a long haul holiday- or even getting him out of the house- he would've laughed in her face. He did make a note to himself to have a quiet word with her about Charles' medical care before they went though, he couldn't afford to have another incident like this and especially not in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.

They even announced their plans to Mrs James when she popped by just as Molly was leaving. Charles said it as though it was no more remarkable than him going to sit out in the garden for an hour. It was clear from her face that Mrs James wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

It was all looking great, and he found himself getting excited at the prospect of blue sky's and white sand as he put his coat on to leave. Then he saw them. Mrs James and Molly were standing outside the back door, both of them looking grim. He only caught the last line of what was said, but that was more than enough for him.

"I hope you know what you're doing Molly, I really do."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty**

 _Steven James_

Molly moved in at the weekends. Not that Charles had said anything to him, or Mary. He'd walked through to the annexe one Saturday morning to see if Charles was okay and tell him Mark and been delayed and there she was, walking up the hallway in her pyjamas with a bowl full of coco pops. She looked mortified when she saw him standing there, he wasn't entirely sure why. He'd remembered, with a sad smile, that it used to be quite a regular occurrence to find some pretty young girl creeping out of his bedroom when Charles had been at home- before he met Rebecca anyway.

"Morning Molly." He tried to act as though his son had actually told him that she was moving in there. "Just bringing Charles his post."

"He's not up yet." She smiled awkwardly, looking as though she might've just realised that her pyjama shorts were barely covering anything. "Do you want me to give him a shout."

"No, no. If he's sleeping let him rest." He smiled, handed the post to her and headed back the way he'd come quickly, feeling like he'd intruded.

He'd thought, rather foolishly, when he told Mary that he might be pleased. She'd been so worried Molly was going to meet a man and break Charles' heart, she'd kept going on about it ever since the wedding. But she'd just looked a little surprised, then adopted that tense and disapproving expression that meant she was running through all sorts of undesirable consequences in her head. She'd never out right said it but he was fairly sure his wife was not very keen on Molly Dawes. Then again, he was never really sure who she did and didn't approve of anymore. Her default setting seemed to be stuck on disapprove.

They never quite got to the bottom of what had prompted Molly to stay- Mary had pestered Charles relentlessly until he'd eventually told them there was some kind of family situation- but they never really saw much of her when she was there anyway. She was always busy, and tended to keep going past the window in a blur as she hurried off to somewhere else, backwards and forwards to the travel agents and various other places, when she was at the house she seemed to be constantly cleaning and washing.

He would've said she brightened the place up, except he couldn't say anything like that to Mary anymore, not without getting one of those looks anyway. Still, Charles seemed happier with her around more, and that was all that really mattered to any of them. Often the sound of the two of them laughing would filter through the open windows. It was a long time since he'd heard his son laugh like that.

On Monday evening she'd stuck her head around the annexe door, rather timidly, and asked him and Mary to join them in the annexe. Mark was already sat at the table with Charles and she'd covered the table in travel brochures, timetables and insurance details. There was a copy for each of them in a little plastic wallet with their name on, all terribly organised.

She wanted to present her plans for their holiday to them, she'd said. They had all agreed they were going, and that whatever it was that she wanted to do they would go along with as long as Charles agreed, but he didn't miss the way his wife's eyes narrowed a bit as Molly listed all of the things she'd got planned for them.

It was an extraordinary trip, he had to give her that. It was filled with incredible activities, some of which he had a hard time picturing his son doing even before the accident, but she'd really put some effort in and everything she'd found was suitable for Charles to take part in too. White water rafting, bungee jumping and god knows what else. She kept telling Charles that if he wanted her to widen her horizons and try all these things then the least he could do was join her. He couldn't help but look at her with the same admiration as his son did, she was a resourceful little thing it turned out.

"So." Molly turned to face them when all of the question had been asked. "We'll be leaving in eight days. Are you happy, Mrs James?" There was a faint air of defiance in her tone, as though she was daring his wife to say no- something had definitely changed in the dynamic of their relationship, he just wished he knew what.

"If that's what you all want to do then that's quite alright with me." Mary nodded.

"Mark, are you still up for it?" Molly asked.

"You bet!" Mark grinned.

"And… Charles?" Molly looked a little bit nervous as she turned to him.

There was a pause, and he wondered if everyone else was thinking the same as him- that four months ago this had seemed literally impossible. There had been a time when Charles would've said no just to upset his mother, even if he had actually wanted to go. Charles looked up, and locked eyes with his mother for a moment, his face completely unreadable, then turned to Molly. His face split into a grin. "As you've gone to all this trouble Dawes it would be rude not to…. besides, I'm looking forward to watching you throw yourself in some rapids!"

Molly seemed to physically deflate with the relief, and he wondered for a moment if she'd actually been expecting Charles to say no.

It was funny, he had to admit, when she first wound her way into their lives he was a bit suspicious of her. Charles, despite all of his bluster, had been vulnerable and he had been a little worried that he might be easily manipulated. After all, with everything that had happened he'd been left feeling about as useless and worthless as possible, but he was still a wealthy young man and there was always a worry someone might try and take advantage.

But he saw the way Molly looked at his son after he'd agreed to go on the trip, a strange mix of gratitude and pride, and he was suddenly immensely glad she was there. Although they never actually spoke about what a horrific situation Charles was in, because Mary seemed to prefer to bury her head in the sand, whatever Molly was doing seemed to be making it at least a little more bearable for him, and he knew they'd always be in debt to her for that.

For a few days there was almost a celebratory atmosphere around the house. Mary wore a quiet air of hopefulness, though she refused to admit that's what it was. He knew what she was thinking- what did they really have to celebrate when all was said and done?

He heard her on the phone to Sophie late one night, trying to justify what they had agreed to. Sophie, ever her mother's daughter, was trying to find any way in which Molly might've used her brothers situation to her own advantage.

"She offered to pay for herself darling." Mary had sighed into the phone. "And your brother actually seemed really excited to go. We don't have much time left and I think this is our best shot. I'm just going to hope for the best and I think you ought to do the same."

He knew it pained his wife to be nice to Molly a lot of the time, let alone defend her. But she tolerated the girl because she knew, as they all did, that she was the only chance they had of keeping their son even halfway happy.

Molly Dawes had become, even though neither of them dared to say it out loud, their only chance of keeping their son alive.

He went out for lunch with Stella, seizing the opportunity while he knew Mary was tied up in court all day. He wasn't really sure why he was still creeping around, his wife knew, they were just still going through the motions and pretending she didn't for some reason.

"Charles is going on holiday." He told her, as they sat and finished their drinks.

"How lovely." Stella smiled back at him. He could see her fighting the urge to ask what that meant for their future.

She carried on, chatting about what brilliant news this was and how it might be a sign that he was finally starting to adapt to his new life and even embrace his future. It was sweet of her to try, especially given that she might've legitimately been hoping for an end to it all. After all, it was Charles' accident that had curtailed their plans for a life together. She must've hoped, at least at some point, that his responsibilities towards his son would end so that one day he could be free to live the life with her they'd spent years talking about.

As he sat there with her in the cosy corner of the restaurant he fought the urge to tell her the truth- the truth that just a handful of people knew. If Molly and her bungee jumping, swimming and tropical beaches failed in their mission, she would paradoxically he setting him free. Because the only way he'd ever be able to leave his family was if Charles still decided to go to Switzerland.

He knew it, and so did Mary, but they both refused to admit it. Only on their son's death would he be free to live the life he had dreamed of for years.

"Don't." Stella said softly, she knew what he was thinking without him even saying it. "You never know, this might be the start of a whole new independent life for Charles."

"Yes." He smiled at her. "You're quite right. He might come back full of tales of bungee jumping and whatever else they've got planned and be almost like his old self."

The thought had kept him smiling to himself for a while, picturing how things might all work out after all. He was full of optimism that his son might find himself again on his trip of a lifetime.

Then Charles got pneumonia.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty One**

 _Thank you so much to everyone who's read up to this point your reviews and messages are really helping to motivate me to keep writing! For those of you who want to read the happy ending version of this, you'll need to stop at the end of this chapter and I'll post the other ending separately as this is the point it will split off from._

 _thanks again for reading!_

She ran through the corridors of the hospital in a blind panic. The maze like corridors meant it took her awhile to find the critical care ward, but after asking three people for directions she eventually found it and burst through the doors, gasping and breathless as though she'd just run a marathon. Mark was sitting in the corridor reading a newspaper.

"How is he?" She gasped, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

"On oxygen. Stable."

"I don't understand. He was fine on Friday, he had a bit of a cough on Saturday morning… but this?" She flopped down on the seat next to him trying to catch her breath. She'd been running almost constantly since she got Mark's text, desperately trying to get to Charles.

Mark sat up and folded his newspaper, turning to look at her properly. "It's not the first time Molly. It only takes a tiny bit of bacteria in his lungs, his body doesn't work like ours, his cough mechanism doesn't work properly and he goes down pretty fast. I did try and help him clear it Saturday afternoon but he was in too much pain, then he got a fever out of nowhere. We had to call an ambulance in the middle of the night."

"Shit." She whispered in horror. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Can I go and see him?"

"He's pretty groggy I don't think you'll get much out of him. Mrs J is in there with him."

She left her bag with Mark, cleaned her hands and went in. He was laying in the middle of a hospital bed, partially covered with a blue blanket, wired up to a drip and surrounded by various machines that beeped intermittently. His face was partially obscured by an oxygen mask and his eyes were closed. His skin was a horrible shade of grey, tinged with blue that made her stomach flip. Mrs James sat next to him, holding his hand.

She stared blankly at the white wall opposite her.

"Mrs James."

She looked up with a start. "Oh… Molly."

"How… How is he doing?" She asked, shifting uncomfortably. What she really wanted to do was go and take his other hand, but she didn't really feel like she could go and sit down with Mrs James there, so she hovered by the door instead, feeling like she was intruding.

"A bit better. They have him on some very strong antibiotics."

"Is there… anything I can do?" Molly asked, not sure what to say.

"I don't think so, no. The consultant should be round in an hour or so, the nurses said. We just have to wait."

The world seemed to have stopped, they both stared at the rise and fall of his chest.

"Do you want me to take over so you can have a break?" She suggested.

"No. I think I'll stay." Mrs James shook her head, her eyes not leaving her sons face.

Molly watched him, wishing his eyes would open. She could hear his voice in her head, telling her she was making the place look untidy and to sit down. He just laid there though, eyes closed and motionless. She could hardly bring herself to look.

"Would… would you like me to get you a drink?" She asked Mrs James. She needed someone to let her do something, anything, so she wasn't just standing there uselessly staring at him.

Mrs James looked up. "What time is it?"

"Half past ten."

"Is it really?" She shook her head as though she found it hard to believe. "Yes, please. Tea would be lovely. I seem to have been here rather a long time. Thank you Molly."

Molly had been off or the day on Friday, partly because the James family had insisted that she was owed a day off, and also because she'd realised she needed to sort out a passport. She'd popped by the house on her way home to show Charles some of the holiday shopping that she'd been doing, and to check his passport was still in date too. She hadn't really noticed anything different about him, he'd maybe been a bit quieter than usual. Her mind had been so full of their travel plans and things she needed to get done she wondered if maybe she'd missed something important.

She went and got Mrs James a cup of tea, and then sat out in the waiting room. Mark had left and she had nothing to do other than flick through a magazine someone had left on the table and stare at the clock. She wanted to go and sit with him, but she felt intrusive being in there with Mrs James. The consultant came round to see him and she strained her ears to try and listen to what was being said. She wished she could go and sit in there and listen, but she knew Mrs James wouldn't appreciate it.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later Mrs James followed him out of the room. Molly wasn't sure why she was telling her, probably because her husband was nowhere to be seen and she just needed to tell someone, the relief on her face was clearly visible as she told Molly the doctor was confident they had got the infection under control.

"So what do we do now?" Molly asked.

"We wait." Mrs James shrugged.

"Do you want me to get you some lunch? Or maybe I could sit with him for a little while and you can have a break?" Molly suggested.

Mrs James' face softened slightly, and without that rigid expression she wore permanently Molly could suddenly see how tired she was. She seemed to have aged by at least ten years just in the short time Molly had known her.

"That would be lovely, thank you." She smiled. "I'd love to go home and change my clothes, I just didn't want to leave him alone. If you don't mind staying that would be good."

After she'd gone, Molly went in, closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair beside him. It was strange, as if the Charles she knew wasn't really there, just his body was. She wondered if that was how it felt when someone died, then told herself to stop thinking about death. She sat and watched the seconds tick by on the clock and listened to the voices in the hallway, the steady beeping of the monitors.

Twice a nurse came in to check on him, pressing buttons on the machines and checking his temperature. "He is okay, isn't he?" Molly asked quietly.

"He's asleep." The nurse told her reassuringly. "It's probably the best thing for him right now. Try not to worry."

It was an easy thing to say, but she'd had a lot of time to think about Charles and the frightening speed with which he had become dangerously ill. She took his fingers gently in hers, closing her fingers around them. They were warm, the fingers of someone who was very much alive and she found it oddly reassuring. Her fingers smoothed over the skin, looking at every mark and line on them. It was odd to think about how they held no strength, how they would never be able to hold another hand or pick anything up.

He finally woke up just after four. Molly jumped out of her skin when Mrs James came to tell her- she'd been asleep lying across a couple of the chairs in the waiting room. She said he was talking and he'd asked for her, Molly felt her stomach flip. Mrs James disappeared off into the hallway to call her husband.

"Hey." She said softly as she peeped her head around the door.

"Hey yourself." His voice was hoarse, as though he'd spent the past thirty six hours shouting rather than sleeping.

She sat down beside him and his eyes flickered downwards. "Do you want me to lift the mask for a minute?" She asked. He nodded. She carefully slid it up over his head. "So how are you feeling?"

"I've been better." He croaked.

A lump rose in her throat and she struggled to swallow it. "I don't know. You'll do anything for a bit of attention. I bet this was all just a-"

He closed his eyes and she stopped mid sentence. "Sorry Dawes. I don't think I can do witty today."

She talked, wittering away about absolutely nothing but just feeling like she needed to keep talking. She eventually moved on to talking about their holiday, thinking it might cheer him up.

He looked at her apologetically. "The thing is Dawes, I'm not sure I'm going to be going bungee jumping any time soon."

She'd known this was going to happen, from the moment she'd found out he was ill. For some reason having it confirmed outloud was a devastating blow.

"Don't worry." She tried to keep her voice even. "We'll go some other time."

"I'm sorry I know you were looking forward to it." He croaked.

She placed a hand on his forehead, smoother his hair down and gently pulled the oxygen mask back over. "It's really not important. Just get well."

He closed his eyes with a faint wince. She could read him well enough to know what it meant. There wasn't necessarily going to be another time. He didn't think ever he well enough to go, or they were just going to run out of time. She wasn't sure what was worse.

She spent the next day sitting in the empty annexe going through her holiday folder, painstakingly cancelling every excursion and activity she had booked for them. There was no saying when, or if, he would be well enough to do any of them. The doctor had stressed that he needed to rest, finish his antibiotics and stay warm and dry. White water rafting and scuba diving were not part of the plan for his recovery.

She stared at the folder, all of the effort and time that had gone into it. The hours that she'd spent selecting things that she thought he might enjoy. For the first time since she'd started all this she felt properly despondent. There were just over three weeks to go and she had failed him. Her contract was due to end and as far as she could tell she had done absolutely nothing to change Charles' mind. She was afraid to ask Mrs James where they went from here. She felt completely overwhelmed, her head dropped into her hands and she stayed like that, wondering what on Earth she was supposed to do.

"You okay?" Her head shot up to find Mark standing awkwardly just inside the door. "I'm just dropping some stuff off ready for when he comes back."

She wiped roughly at her eyes. "Just wondering where the bloody hell to start with cancelling all of this."

He sat down at the table so he was opposite her. "It's shit, that's for sure." He picked her folder up and flicked through it. "Do you want me to give you a hand tomorrow?"

"It's okay." She shook her head. "It'll probably be easier if I just do it, I booked it all."

Mark made a cup of tea for them and they sat at the table and drank them. She realised it was probably the first time they'd actually sat and talked properly. He told her about the previous bout of pneumonia Charles had that nearly killed him and how it had taken him weeks to recover.

"He gets this look in his eyes, when he's really ill. Like he just retreats and he's not even really there anymore. It's scary." He admitted quietly.

"I know. It scares me too."

"He's a-" he stopped abruptly, his eyes sliding to the table as though he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"You know, don't you." It all made sense to her all of a sudden.

"Know about what?" He still didn't look at her.

"About what he wants to do."

The silence in the room was intense as Mark studied her, weighing up how to respond.

"I know." She said quietly. "I'm not supposed to, but I do. That's what all the days out and the holiday were about. I was trying to change his mind."

"I did wonder. You seemed to be on a mission."

"I was. Am."

He shook his head and she wasn't sure if he was telling her not to give up or that there was nothing else to be done.

"What are we supposed to do Mark?"

It took him a moment or two before he spoke again. "You know what Molly? I really like him. I've been with him for two years, seen him at his best and his worst. I'll I can say to you is I wouldn't be in his shoes for all the money in the world." He took a swig of his tea. "There's been times I've stayed over and he's woken up in the night screaming because he's dreamt that he's back at work, or on holiday skiing or something, and just for those few moments when his defences are down it's all a bit raw- he literally can't bear the thought of never being able to do any of that stuff ever again. I've just sat there with him, and nothing I can say is going to change that. He's been dealt the shittiest cards imaginable, and you know what, I looked at him in that hospital last night and I was thinking about what his life is going to become….. I'd love nothing more than to see him happy… I can't decide for him what he wants to do. It's his choice, it should be his choice."

Her breath caught in her throat. "But that was before I came, right? Mrs James keeps saying how different he is now."

"Sure, but-"

"But if we don't have some faith that he can feel better, or even get better, then how is he supposed to?"

Mark put his mug down on the table. "Molly." His voice was stern. "He's not going to get any better."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He said quietly. "So does he. Unless there's some sort of massive breakthrough in stem cell research or something, but that could be decades at least. Charles knows it, even if Mrs James doesn't want to admit it. And that's half the problem right there, Mrs James wants to keep him alive at all costs and Mr James thinks there's a point, which we've reached, that he needs to be allowed to make his own decision."

"Of course he gets to decide, but he has to actually know all the choices first." She argued.

"He knows what his choices are, he's a bright guy."

"No, you're wrong." She shook her head. "You can't try and tell me he's in the same place he was before. You tell me he hasn't changed his outlook even a little bit since I've been here."

"I know he'll do pretty much anything to try and make you happy."

She stared at him, furious. "Are you trying to say he's just going through the motions to keep me happy? Why did you even agree to come on this trip with us if you didn't think there was any point?"

"I want him to live, Molly."

"But-"

"I want him to live, but only if he wants to live. If he doesnt, by forcing him to carry on, we just become another load of those shitty people who take all his choices away from him."

His words reverberated around the silence of the annexe. She wiped a solitary tear from her cheek. Mark, seemingly embarrassed by her tears, got up and shuffled around the kitchen awkwardly to get her a tissue.

"I can't just let it happen." She whispered.

He said nothing.

"I can't."

She looked at her passport and the holiday folder sitting on the table. It felt like another life entirely. She stared at it, thinking.

"Mark?"

"What?"

"If I could find us some other kind of trip, one that the doctors would agree he could go on, would you still come with us?"

"Of course I would." He rinsed his mug out and headed for the door. "I'll be honest with you though Molly, I'm not sure even you can pull this off."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Exactly ten days later Mr James dropped them off at Gatwick airport. Mark wrestled with their luggage and Molly checked on Charles so many times that even he became irritated with her.

"Take care of yourselves, and have a good trip." Mr James smiled, placing a hand on Charles' shoulder. "Don't get up to too much mischief." He winked at Molly as he added the last bit and she felt her cheeks turn scarlet.

Mrs James hadn't been able to get away from work to come to the airport. Molly suspected it was more to do with the fact she either didn't want to wave Charles off or she didn't want to be stuck in the car with her husband.

Charles nodded but said nothing. He'd been very quiet in the car, staring out of the window with that unreadable expression on his face and ignoring Mark as he chatted about the traffic and what they already knew they had forgotten to bring.

Even as they walked across the concourse she wasn't sure they were doing the right thing. Mrs James hadn't wanted him to go at all. But from the day he had agreed to the revised trip plan Molly knew Mrs James had been afraid to tell him he shouldn't go. The last week in particular she seemed to be afraid to talk to him at all. Instead she'd busied herself in the garden, cutting things down with a frightening efficiency.

"The airline is meant to come and meet us." She said. "They're meant to come and meet us."

"Chill out. They're hardly going to post someone at the door." Mark dismissed her, continuing to head for the check in desks.

She'd lost count of the amount of times she'd phoned to check and double check that everything had been arranged properly. They'd been allocated three seats in a row, in a bulkhead so they'd hopefully be away from prying eyes. They'd be boarded first, Mark would oversee the loading of the wheel chair to make sure it didn't get damaged and then he would join them. The airline had assured her that the armrests lifted so that they wouldn't bruise him transferring him from the wheelchair to the aircraft seat. He could sit in between her and mark the whole way there.

They'd also promised that they would be allowed of the aircraft first too.

All of this was on her 'airport checklist' which was in the folder with her 'hotel checklist' and the 'day before checklist' and the itinerary. Even with all this in place she still felt sick.

Every time she looked at Charles she wondered if she'd done the right thing. The doctor had only cleared him to travel the day before. He ate very little and spent the majority of the day asleep. He seemed not just weary from his illness, but exhausted by life in general- tired of their interference, attempts to remain upbeat and relentless determination to make things better for him.

"There's the airline woman." She breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted the woman in her red uniform making a beeline for them.

"Well she's going to be a lot of use moving him." Mark whispered. "She doesn't look like she could lift a frozen prawn."

"We'll manage." Molly smiled tightly. "Between us we'll manage." It was quickly becoming her most used phrase.

Despite her determination to get him there, by the time they'd actually left she was just as exhausted as Charles. She'd spent days wrestling with the finer points of quadriplegic travel. It turned out that air travel became much more complicated when you needed to take an entire hospital worth of equipment everywhere with you.

Then, as they sat in the terminal with all of their bags, she looked at his face- pale and withdrawn- and had another moment of panic that she was doing the wrong thing. What if what he needed wasn't an epic journey but just ten nights in his own bed? What if he got ill again? What if he hated it as much as he hated the horse racing?

But they didn't have ten days to spare, that was the bottom line. This was it, her only chance.

"They're calling our flight." Mark said, wandering back out of the duty free shop.

She drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Let's go."

The flight itself, despite the twelve long hours in the air, was not the ordeal that she'd built it up to be in her head. Mark surprised her by managing to attend to all of Charles' medical needs under a blanket as if it was something he did every day.

Within an hour of being in the air, Molly had realised that in reality, stuck up there Charles wasn't really very different from anyone else. They were all stuck in front of the tv screens with nowhere to move to or go. He ate, watched a film and mostly slept, as did Molly and Mark.

When she woke there was someone standing over her, serving her breakfast. Charles was sitting up and chatting to Mark about a film he'd watched. Astonishingly, they were only two hours away from landing in Mauritius.

She couldn't actually let herself believe that they'd done it until they set foot into the airport when they landed. Mark and Charles seemed to be struggling to comprehend it too. As they emerged groggily through the arrivals hall she could've wept with joy at the sight of the specially adapted taxi that was waiting for them. It was though someone had dropped her into the pages of a travel magazine as the taxi sped along in the direction of their hotel.

When they arrived they declined the drinks and tour of the hotel they were offered. They found Charles' room, dumped their bags and helped him into bed. Almost before they could draw the curtains he was asleep again. As they stood outside his room she suddenly felt tearful. She wasn't sure why, maybe it was the sheer relief but she tears spilled down her cheeks before she could wipe them away.

"It's okay." Mark smiled, catching sight of her expression. Before she could react he pulled her into a bear hug. "Relax Molly, you did good. Really good. It's going to be okay."

It was almost three days before she started to believe him. Charles slept for most of the first two days, and then astonishingly he started to look better. His skin regained some colour and the bluish circles around his eyes began to fade. His spasms lessened and he began to eat again, wheeling himself around the buffet and instructing her what to put on his plate- while also bullying her into trying some things she never would've picked up herself.

The hotel had, as promised, provided them with a special wheelchair with wide wheels so it could go on the sand. Most mornings Mark had transferred Charles into it and they would all walk down the beach together. They would stop at a small beach, sheltered by rocks and just out of view of the main hotel. Molly would unfold her chair and sit next to Charles, the two of them watching on ask Mark tried a variety of water sports and cheering him on, or shouting the occasional word of abuse when he fell off.

At first the hotel staff had almost wanted to do too much for him. They were constantly offering to push his chair and trying to give him drinks. Once Mark explained what they did and didn't need from them they cheerfully backed off. It was nice though, during the brief moments she wasn't with him there was always a waiter or a cleaner having a chat with him. There was one young man in particular, Nadil, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as Charles' unofficial carer when Molly and Mark weren't around. One day she'd walked back up the beach to find him lifting Charles out of his chair and carefully positioning him on a sunbed.

"This is better." He beamed, giving her a thumbs up. "You give me a call when he wants to get back in his chair."

She'd been about to protest and tell him he shouldn't have moved him, but Charles lay there with a look of contentment in his face and it took her by surprise to see him looking so happy.

Their days fell into a pattern. They'd eat breakfast together, all three of them, at one of the shaded tables around the pool. Charles had a fruit salad and when his appetite grew he had pancakes too. They then went down to the beach where they spent most of their days- Molly reading, Charles listening to music and Mark trying whatever water sport took his fancy that day- Charles pestered her to do some too, but she was content just laying on the beach with him.

At lunch time they would head for one of the resorts three restaurants. The whole resort was tiled with very few steps or slopes, and though it was only a small thing, the fact he could navigate around without having to be reliant on them made all the difference to him. Then they'd head back to the pool or the beach for the rest of the afternoon.

In the evenings they sat and talked. They talked about their childhoods, families and Charles told them ridiculous stories about some of the soldiers he'd had in his charge over the years. She slowly saw Charles begin to re-emerge- except this version of him was different, being away from home seemed to have brought him a peace that had been missing the whole time she'd known him.

"He's doing good, hey?" Mark whispered to her one evening.

"Yes. I think so."

"You know, I think the other trip with all those adventures would've been great and all that but I can't help but think this might've all worked out better."

She didn't tell him that she'd promised herself on the first day as they checked in that she would stop calculating the days until they had to leave and worrying about the future. She had to try and forget why they were there, she wanted to live in the moment and just try to encourage Charles to do the same. At the end of the day it was all about trying to make him happy.

On the fourth night Mark had announced with only slight embarrassment that he had a date. Sarah was a fellow Aussie who was staying in the next hotel along and he had agreed to go into the town with her.

"Just to make sure it's safe for her to be there, you know." He'd said.

"No." Charles nodded his head, barely hiding his smirk. "Very chivalrous of you."

"Very responsible of you." Molly agreed.

"Piss of both of you." Mark glared at them, but they could see the smile on his face.

Sarah quickly became a fixture. Mark would disappear off with her most evenings, and although he would always come back to help Molly get Charles into bed, they tried their best to give him as much time off as possible. She was secretly glad, because as much as she liked Mark, it was nice to get some time alone with just her and Charles.

On the penultimate night she told Mark she didn't mind if he wanted to bring Sarah back to their hotel. She knew it was difficult for him having to keep walking the twenty minutes back and forth between the hotels late at night to sort Charles out.

"I don't mind… if it'll give you a bit of um… privacy." She mumbled, unsure of what she was trying to imply.

"Cheers mate!" He grinned, already cheerful at the thought of the night ahead.

"Nice of you." Charles observed when she told him.

"Nice if you, you mean." She laughed. "It's your room I've donated to the cause not mine."

That night they got him into her room, Mark got him into bed and gave him his medication while Sarah waited at the bar. In the bathroom Molly changed into her pyjamas and then pottered over to the sofa with a pillow under her arm. She felt oddly self conscious, feeling Charles' eyes on her, considering the fact she'd been walking round in a bikini all week.

"Dawes?"

"What?"

"You really don't have to sleep over there. This bed is big enough for an entire football team as it is."

She didn't really even think about it. That was how it was by then. Maybe it was the days spent walking around half naked that had loosened them up, or perhaps she just wanted to be near him. She walked across to join him in the bed, then nearly jumped out of her skin as there was a loud crash of thunder. The lights flickered and she froze for a second. They heard Mark and Sarah laughing next door.

"I'd better close the shutters." She looked out of the window as she went to close them, the rain hammered down and the lightning split dramatically across the sky. It looked like the end of the world.

"No, don't." He spoke softly. "Throw the doors open. I want to see it."

She did as he asked, then climbed onto the bed beside him. The rain ran in rivers out to the sea as it poured down off the roof. The flashes of lightning were so bright it almost seemed like daylight. The hairs on her arms stood on end.

She put her arms around him and pulled him forwards to help him sit up so he could see a bit better. She knew just how to move him by now, how to make his weight and solidity work with her. He smelt of the sun, as though it had somehow seeped into his skin, and she found herself inhaling silently and committing the smell to memory.

As she pulled away from him she left her hand interlinked with his. She thought for a moment that she might never feel quite so intensely connected to another person as she did in that moment. It seemed like it was just the two of them, as they laid there and watched the storm.

"Not bad, hey Dawes?" He smiled triumphantly at her, then turned his attention back to the storm.

"No." She nodded quietly. "Not bad at all."

She lay still, listening to his breathing as it slowed and deepened mixed with the sound of the rain on the roof and his fingers intertwined with her own. She didn't ever want to go home. There they were safe, locked in their own little paradise, safe from the outside world.

It's going to be okay, she told herself, repeating it over and over again.

Finally, she turned on her side to face Charles. He turned his head to look back at her in the dim light. She got the sense he was trying to tell her that it was all going to be okay too. For the first time in a long time she tried to stop herself from thinking about the future. She had no idea how long they'd been laying there like that, his eyelids grew heavier and he whispered apologetically that he thought he might fall asleep. His breathing deepened as he drifted into sleep, and then it was just her lying there studying his face and committing every freckle and wrinkle to memory.

Two things had happened on their last day. One, was that under great pressure from Charles she had reluctantly agreed to go scuba diving. She hadn't had much choice, he'd arrived back from lunch to announce he'd booked her on the half day beginners course.

It didn't get off to a good start. Mark and Charles watched from the side of the pool in despair as the instructor tried hopelessly to convince her that she wouldn't drown if she breathed underwater.

"I don't think I can do this." She spluttered for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"Someone people find it easier out there." The instructor suggested, pointing to the beach.

"In the sea?" Molly stared at him in horror.

"Some people are better thrown in at the deep end. Come on, let's go out on the boat."

Half an hour later she was gazing at the brightly coloured landscape that was hidden under the waves, forgetting to be afraid that her oxygen might stop working and she would die a watery death. She was distracted by the discovery of a whole new world that she had never known existed.

She could barely speak through the huge grin she wore as she walked back down the beach towards them an hour later.

"Good eh?" Mark smiled.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She demanded, throwing her flippers down on the sand in front of them. "You should've made me do that earlier! It was amazing!"

"I don't know Dawes, some people just won't be told." Charles grinned.

She let herself get drunk on the last night. It wasn't just they were leaving the next day, it was the first time she'd felt truly relaxed and that Charles was well. She wore a white cotton dress, the sun had given her skin a bronzed glow so that she didn't actually look the same colour as the dress.

"Well well, don't you scrub up well." Charles winked at her as she walked over to meet them at the bar.

She'd been about to say something sarcastic, then she'd realised he was looking at her with genuine pleasure. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." She smiled.

There was a disco at the main hotel complex, so shortly before 10pm they walked down to the beach, leaving Mark and Sarah to dance- they could hear music playing dainty in the distance and she could feel the cocktails had gone to her head a little bit as she paddled along the shoreline.

Someone had built a fire down on the beach, and they stopped and sat beside it, the warmth and flickering light somehow made the whole evening feel even more special. "I never want to go home." She announced.

"It's hard place to leave." He agreed.

"I didn't think places like this existed outside of films."

He smiled at her, his whole face happy and relaxed. She looked at him, and for the first time it wasn't with a faint feeling of fear in her stomach.

"You're glad we came right?" She asked hesitantly.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Yes!" She punched the air victoriously. Then, someone turned up the music at the bar, and if she was honest it was probably the fact she'd had a cocktail too many, but she got up and started to dance. Ordinarily she would've been embarrassed, but there was something about being alone in the dim light of the fire and the way he was smiling at her- the only reasonable reaction to everything that had happened in the last six months to get them to where they were seemed to be to dance.

The song ended and she flopped back down beside him, breathless. "You…" he started.

"What?" She grinned. She hadn't felt that carefree in months, it was amazing what a difference it made with that weight being lifted.

He shook his head at her. Without really every thinking about it she got up and gently slid herself on to his lap, so their faces were just inches apart. She could feel his breath on her skin. After the previous evening it somehow didn't feel like that much of a leap to make.

"You…" He smiled, the reflection of the flames flickering in his eyes. "You are something else Molly Dawes."

She did the only thing she could think of, and leant forward and placed her lips on his, closing the last remaining bit of distance between them. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then he kissed her. And just for a second she forgot about everything- the million and one reasons why she shouldn't, her fears and even the reason they'd come on the trip in the first place. She kissed him, breathing in the scent of his skin, the feeling of his hair between her fingers and the toughness of his stubble against her skin. It was as though everything else had vanished and it was just the two of them alone on an island, under the light of thousands of stars.

And then suddenly he pulled away. "No…I'm sorry… no."

She pulled back a fraction to look at him, her fingertips tracing his jaw. "Charles. You can, you can-"

"No." There was an edge to his voice. "I can't."

"I don't understand."

"I don't want to get into it."

"I don't think that's really an option." She frowned.

"I can't do this because I can't… I can't be the man I want to be with you. Then that just means that this…" he paused and looked up at her face. "This just becomes another reminder of everything that I'm not."

She didn't let go of his face, instead tipping her head forwards so her forehead rested against his and their breath mingled. "I don't care what you think you can and can't do… it's not black and white Charles. I think we can-"

"No Dawes."

"Here's the thing, I love you okay. I've known for a while… and I think maybe you might love me a little bit too." She said it so quietly she wondered for a moment if he'd actually heard her.

He didn't speak, his eyes searched hers and there was a huge weight of sadness within them. She smoothed the curls back from his forehead and he tilted his head into her hand.

"I have to tell you something." He swallowed.

"I know." She whispered. "I know everything."

His mouth closed and the air seemed to still around them. She took a deep breath and carried on. "I know about Switzerland, I know why I was employed on a six month contract." He pulled his head away from her hand. "I know everything Charles, I've known for months. Please listen to me, I know we can do this. I know it's not what you would've chosen to happen but we can make it work, I can make you happy. I would rather be with you than anyone else in the world."

He closed his eyes, his fingers tightened a fraction around hers.

"What do you say?" She whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was a long silence, and when he finally spoke he was so quiet she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

"What?"

"No, Dawes."

"No?"

"I'm sorry, it's not enough." He said quietly.

She removed her hand from his. "I don't understand."

He waited for a moment before he spoke, struggling to find the right words. "It's not enough for me Dawes- this, my world- even with you in it. Believe me Dawes, my whole life has changed for the better in ways I can't even describe since I met you but it's still not enough. This isn't my life."

She wrenched herself away from him, climbing off his lap so quickly she almost fell over her own feet.

"The thing is, I get that this could be a good life. I know that with you around it could be a very good life, but it's not my life Dawes. This is nothing like the life I want, not even close." His voice wobbled slightly, his expression frightened her.

She shook her head, wondering if she was actually going to be able to speak. "You… you said to me, that day in Hyde Park that I didn't have to let it be the thing that defined me. Why doesn't that apply to you?"

"But it does define me Dawes. You didn't know me before this. I loved my life, really loved it. I loved my job, all the travelling and every kind of sport and activity I could find the time to do. I was a very physical person. I led a big life Dawes, I'm not designed to exist trapped in this chair."

"You're not giving it a chance." She whispered. "You're not even giving me a chance." She was vaguely aware of the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"It's not a case of giving you a chance Dawes. I've watched you becoming a whole new person in these last six months and you have no idea how happy that has made me. I don't want you to be tied to me and a lifetime of hospital appointments and limitations. I want you to be brilliant, and I don't want you to miss out on anything because you're tied to me…. and selfishly Dawes, I don't want you to look at me with even the tiniest bit of regret one day."

"I would never do that!"

"You don't know that Dawes! You don't know how this would play out, or how you would feel even six months from now! I can't look at you everyday and see you wandering around the annexe or see you naked and not be able to touch you. Oh, Dawes, if you had any idea what I want to do to you…. I can't be that person. I'll never be able to just accept that this is who I am now."

"Please, please don't do this." She sobbed.

"Just listen, bringing me here- and everything you've done in the last six months- it's the most wonderful thing you could've done for me. You've turned this into the best six months I've had since the bloody accident instead of it just being a test of endurance to keep my parents happy."

"Charles, please-"

"But I need it to end here. No more chair. No more pneumonia. No more burning pain and waking up every morning wishing it could just be over already. When we get back I'm still going to Switzerland, and if you do love me, then I'm hoping you'll come with me."

Her head whipped around. "What?"

"I'm asking you, if you do love me, to come with me. I want you to be the last thing I see Dawes. I want the woman I love to be by my side."

She stared at him in horror, her blood pounding in her ears. "How can you ask me to do that?"

"I know it's-"

"I tell you I love you and I want us to have a future together and you turn around ask me to come and watch you kill yourself?"

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I didn't mean for it to sound so blunt, but I don't have the luxury of time."

"Wh-what? Are you actually booked in? Is there some big appoibtment I'm missing?"

"Yes." He said after a pause. "I've had the consultations and the clinic agreed I'm a suitable case for them. My parents have agreed to the thirteenth of August. We are due to fly out the day before."

"I thought I was changing your mind." Her head was spinning.

"Molly, nothing was ever going to change my mind. I promised my parents six months, and that's what I've given them. You have made this time more precious than you will ever know but-"

"Don't." She snapped.

"What?"

"Don't say another word!" She chokes out. "You're the most selfish man I've ever met and if you thought there was even a chance I'd come with you to Switzerland then you obviously don't know me at all."

"Molly-"

"Fuck you Charles!" She spun around and continued shouting at him as she stormed off up the beach. "I wish I'd never taken this job, I wish I'd never even fucking met you!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Three**

She quickly found out that there is nothing more alarming to passers by than seeing a man in a wheelchair pleading with the woman who is supposed to be looking after him. It was obviously not the done thing to be angry with the disabled man you're responsible for caring for, and yet she couldn't help herself. People glared at her even more harshly given the fact that he was clearly unable to move and just kept gently pleading with her. "Dawes, come here. Please."

But she didn't. She couldn't even look at him. She had met him and Mark in the hotel lobby- Mark still more than a little hungover from the night before- and she had flat out refused to have anything to do with him. The voice in her head wanted to get as far away from him as possible, to just go home and never see him again.

"You okay?" Mark asked, appearing at her shoulder as he finally caught up with her. As soon as they'd arrived at the airport she had marched off to the check in desk to try and put some distance between her and Charles so she didn't have to listen to him.

"No." She snapped. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Hungover?" He pressed.

"No."

There was a short silence in which Mark's brain seemed to catch up with what was actually happening. "Does this mean what I think it does?" He was suddenly somber.

She couldn't speak, so she just nodded. She watched as his whole body stiffened and his jaw clenched. He was stronger than she was though, after all it was a job, and five minutes later he was sitting beside Charles showing him something in a magazine as though nothing had ever happened.

She managed to keep herself busy while they were sitting in the terminal. She went off and bought coffee, wandered around the shops and generally did everything she could to avoid having to sit with Charles. That way she didn't have to talk to him, or even look at him. But every now and then Mark would disappear and they'd be left alone together. She couldn't help but think about how strange it was that 48 hours ago all she wanted was some alone time with him, now she just wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

"Dawes-" he began.

"Don't." She snapped. "I don't want to talk to you." She surprised herself with quite how cold she had been towards him. It certainly took the cabin crew on the flight home by surprise too. She could see them whispering and pointing as she sat rigidly in her seat, turned away from him with her headphones in so he couldn't try and talk to her.

He didn't get angry with her, that was the worst of it. For once he wasn't sarcastic and bitter, he simply went quiet to the point he barely spoke. Poor Mark was left desperately trying to make some kind of conversation with the two of them to ease the boredom of the flight.

It was probably childish of her, given the limited time they had left, but it wasn't a matter of pride she just simply couldn't bring herself to look at him and accept the fact that in a matter of days he would be gone. She hated him, for being so stubborn that he refused to see the good in life no matter how hard she tried to show him what his life could've been. She hated him for sticking to that date as though it were set in stone.

A million silent questions rattled around in her head as she sat there, staring at a mark on the carpet. _Why am I not enough for you? Why could you not have trusted me enough to tell me? If we'd had more time would this have been different?_ Then she had to remind herself there was no point wondering, her time had run out and she wasn't going to change his decision.

Every now and then she'd catch herself staring at his hands as they rested on the armrest, just inches from her own. She'd start to think about the way they felt intertwined with her own, then she started thinking about that moment in the beach again and she'd had to retreat to the tiny little toilet cubicle so she could sob silently over the sink for a minute or two.

The reality was, despite the way it looked to the staff and all the other people on the plane, that ignoring him for the entire journey home and trying to pretend he wasn't there was the only way she was going to survive the flight home, because every time she looked at him her grief for what was to come consumed her.

As she watched the plane on the little map on the tv screen in front of her get closer and closer to home her heart grew heavier, her anxiety greater. It had dawned on her that it wasn't just her own grief and feelings of failure she had to worry about. His parents were going to be devastated. They would probably blame her. And so they should, she had failed to persuade him, failed to show him that his life was in fact worth living.

The final couple of hours dragged by, and in the dimmed lighting of the cabin everyone around- including Charles and Mark- slept. It was only then she allowed herself to look at him. She watched him, taking in every line and freckle of his face as he slept, committing it to memory. He looked so peaceful and content, his skin tanned from the days in the sun, that no one ever could've guessed just from looking at him that anything was wrong at all.

Carefully, she reached up and tucked his blanket in around his neck so he wouldn't get a chill from the air conditioning.

Mr and Mrs James were waiting for them in arrivals. She had known they would be, and yet it made her feel sick to her stomach to see them stood there. She saw Mrs James' face light up when she saw her son, Molly realised he'd still looked awful when they took him away and now he had a sort of healthy glow about him. That only made her feel even worse about the news that was to come.

"Look at you! You look wonderful!" Mrs James grabbed him into a hug, Mr James doing the same the second his wife released him.

Molly looked down at the floor in an attempt to hide her face from them, she didn't want them to guess from her expression what she was going to have to tell them. They deserved to at least have this moment with him.

"I couldn't believe it when Mark said you'd been on the beach and swimming. The photos looked amazing too. It's been raining here pretty much since you left, typical August." Mr James smiled.

Of course Mark had been phoning them- she had briefly wondered why she hadn't heard anything from Mrs James the whole time they'd been away. She should've known there was no way that she would've let them go that long without knowing exactly what was happening.

"It was a pretty amazing place." Mark said with a half smile. He'd grown quiet too, she could almost see him reminding himself to smile and at least try and act like everything was normal.

She looked back down at her feet, clutching her passport in her right hand and having to constantly remind herself to breathe.

"We thought we'd go for a nice dinner before we go home, champagne on us? To celebrate you coming back." Mr James grinned.

"Sure." Charles nodded, he was smiling back at his mother and she was looking at him like she wanted to bottle it. Molly wanted to scream at him, to ask him how he could look at his poor mother like that when he was planning to break her heart in a few hours time.

"Let's head back to the car then, we thought we'd eat early. I expect you're all jet lagged." Mr James went to grab the trolley with all their suitcases on.

"Actually." Molly grabbed hers off the top quickly. "I think I'm going to head off. Thank you though."

She focused on her bag, the floor and anyone who walked past so she didn't have to look at them. There was a brief but noticeable silence after she'd spoken.

Mr James was the first to break it. "Come on, Molly. Let's have a little celebration. We want to hear about all of your adventures!"

"Yes, come on Molly." There was an edge to Mrs James' voice. "Come with us."

"No." She pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head to shield the fact her eyes were filling with tears from them. "Thank you, I need to get back."

"To where?" Charles asked.

Then she realised she didn't really have anywhere to go.

"I'll go back to my parents house. It'll all be fine."

"Come with us." He pleaded, his voice gentle. "Please Dawes, don't go. Please."

As a tear rolled slowly down her cheek she realised with absolute certainty she couldn't be anywhere near him. "No thank you, have a lovely meal though." She hoisted her bag up over her shoulder, and before anyone else could say anything, walked as quickly as she could in the direction of the train station.

She was almost at the station by the time Mary James caught her up. "Molly! Stop, please stop!" As Molly turned around Mrs James was forcing herself through a large group of tourists. "Molly please don't do this."

"He had a good time." Molly told her quietly, her voice sounded strange even to her own ears. She felt almost detached from her body as though it was all some kind of terrible dream.

"He looks very well." Mrs James agreed, her voice right.

There was a long pause, and the Molly plucked up the courage to say it.

"Mrs James, I'd like to hand in my notice. I can't… I can't do these last few days. I'll forfeit the money or whatever, I don't even want this months money. I don't want anything. I just-"

Mrs James went pale. From the way she swayed slightly in front of her Molly did wonder for a second if she was going to pass out. Mr James came striding up behind her, muttering his apologies as he forced his way through the crowd. He stopped abruptly, looking at Molly and his wife as they stood rigid, a few feet apart staring at each other.

"You… you said he was happy. You thought he might change his mind after this trip." Mrs James sounded desperate, as if she was pleading with Molly to say something else that might give her a different result.

Molly couldn't speak to start with, she shook her head a fraction. "I'm sorry." She choked out.

Mr James was by her side as she fell. It took Molly by surprise, the way her legs just seemed to buckle underneath her, her husband's arms shot out to catch her just in time. He looked up at Molly, his face pale and confused as though he hadn't quite taken in what had just happened.

She couldn't look. As the train pulled into the station she jumped on, feeling a tiny bit of relief when the doors shut and it pulled away from the station. Then the tears started to flow all over again


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Four**

 _Nan_

Molly didn't come out of her room for the best part of two days when she got back. They'd have been lying if they had said they weren't surprised to see her back, she'd all but moved in to the James' house and hadn't really been back since. She turned up on the doorstep with her suitcase, pale as a ghost under her tan and ran straight up the stairs to bed. Jet lag she said.

Fed up with Dave and Belinda speculating, she went up to the bedroom after tea on the second day to find out what on Earth had gone. Apparently no one else was going to do it. She marched into the bedroom, not bothering to knock and lung the curtains open and opened a window.

Molly sat up, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with a wince.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Nan asked, staring at her expectantly.

Molly flopped back down on the bed.

"Your mother thinks you've got Ebola or something, and Dave just keeps going on about why this is why he won't go holiday because it obviously makes you ill."

Molly laid there, staring up at the bunk bed above her.

"Molly?" Nan tried again when she still didn't speak.

"I quit." Molly said quietly.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" She still didn't look at her. The rigid set of her jaw showed just how hard she was trying not to cry.

For someone who had just spent the best part of two weeks on a beach in Mauritius she looked absolutely awful. Her eyes were red rimmed and her skin blotchy. Her hair all stuck up on one side and she looked as though she'd not slept for years. The worst part was how sad she looked.

"You really think he's going to go through with it?" Nan asked, sitting down on the side of the bed.

Molly swallowed, then nodded as though it was physically painful to do.

"Oh shit, Mol. I'm really sorry." Nan answered, not really sure what to say.

"What do I do Nan?" Molly whispered.

"I'm not really sure there's anything you can do." She sighed. "All that stuff you planned, all the effort. You tried Molly."

"I told him I loved him." Her lip quivered as she spoke. "I told him I love him and he just said it wasn't enough. How am I supposed to live with that?"

She wanted to tell her that it was okay, that in a few years she'd forget all about it. She would've been lying though, after all this was the sort of thing that no one ever really got over. "I don't know Mol." She pulled her into a hug. "I don't know."

She finally emerged the following day and I told Belinda and Dave not to say a word. She'd implied to them it was boy trouble, and Dave had given her a look as if that explained everything. She only hoped it was enough to keep his mouth shut so he didn't upset Molly.

They all sat, making awkward small talk, even the kids played quietly for once. Molly sat in the armchair by the window and stared out at the road. She didn't say a word to any of them. Every now and then when someone spoke to her directly she'd nod, but it was clear to all of them she wasn't actually listening to a word that was being said.

Belinda cooked a special dinner in the hope it might perk Molly up. They could see even before they'd dished it up Molly wasn't going to eat it. She sat and pushed the food around her plate a few times but didn't eat a single mouthful. Belinda made some comment about how nice it was to have her back home again, and that she'd been thinking about going to back to work and maybe things were finally on the up for them all.

With no warning Molly burst into tears. The kind of loud noisy tears that shook her entire body. The noise broke through the silence around the table like a knife as everyone stared at her.

"Molly, what's wrong?" Belinda seemed to regain the use of her legs after a second and shot round the table to hug them.

They all sat there and listened in horror as Molly told them exactly what had happened. The roast chicken went cold and the gravy congealed, not that any of them could've eaten it. Hearing it all over again made her feel sick to her stomach, she'd been so convinced that Molly could convince him otherwise it had never even occurred to her what might happen if she couldn't change his mind.

Even Dave shook his head in disbelief as Molly told them what had happened at the airport. Belinda was crying as much as Molly. "You poor thing." She kept saying, over and over again as she hugged her daughter. "I can't believe you did all this on your own. All we got was a postcard about scuba diving. We thought you were on some amazing holiday!"

"Nan knew." Molly admitted. "I told her when I first found out, she helped me plan it all."

Dave turned and glared at her as if she'd committed some awful crime by keeping a secret from him. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from remind him that he wasn't exactly the parent of the year, and if he hadn't have been quite so awful Molly might've talked to him.

"You came up with all the ideas Mol." She said in the end, everyone seemed to be looking at her as if they were waiting for her to say something.

"Yeah, well. Some ideas they turned out to be." Molly mumbled into her Mum's shoulder.

"You did everything you could love." Belinda tried to comfort her.

"And I failed."

"I don't think you failed." Dave chipped in. They all stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Just hear me out. I've met him, and even from that short time I could tell he's the sort of person who once he's got an idea in his head you're not going to change his mind. A bit like you Mol."

"I can't believe his parents!" Belinda cut in, saving them all from having to listen to Dave. "I can't believe they're going to let their own son kill himself. What kind of monsters are they?"

"They're normal people Mum." Molly sighed. "They just don't know what else to do."

"Well not putting him on a plane to Switzerland would probably be a good start! If I were them I'd be fighting until my dying breath!"

"Even if he'd already tried to kill himself?" Molly whispered. "In really awful ways."

"He's ill. He's depressed and they shouldn't be letting him do something that he'll-" Belinda didn't finish the sentence, the silence around the room made it clear they were all thinking the same thing. He wouldn't regret it because he wasn't going to be there. "That woman must be heartless. And they got our poor Molly involved in all this too! You'd think she'd know right from wrong, what being a magistrate and that. I've got a good mind to go over there right now and bring him back here."

Molly opened her mouth to speak, then caught sight of the date on the calendar. "There's no point. They've already gone." She whispered. "It's tomorrow. The thirteenth of August is tomorrow."

Molly did nothing that last day. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep. She just stayed sat in that armchair staring out of the window as the rain fell. She drank the cup of tea that Belinda placed in front of her every half hour or so, but none of them dared try to talk to her. What were they supposed to say?

Dave and Belinda seemed to be avoiding being in the same room, she couldn't blame them- it was painful to watch. She just sat next to her, the news playing quietly in the background and watched her.

"What if I made a mistake?" Molly asked suddenly, turning to look at her.

"What do you mean?" She looked around for Dave or Belinda, anyone so she didn't have to try and deal with this on her own.

"What if I should've gone with him?"

"But you said you couldn't." She reminded her.

"I know. But I can't bare this sitting here and not knowing what's happening either!" Her lip quivered. "I can't bare the fact that I never got to say goodbye."

"I could take you to the airport? Try and get you a flight?" She suggested. The last thing she wanted was for Molly to go over there and have to watch this happen in front of her. It was the kind of thing that would haunt her for the rest of her life, but she also knew that not saying goodbye to him would do exactly the same.

"It's too late." She shook her head, looking back out of the window. "I'd never get there in time. There's only two hours left… until it stops for the day. I looked it up online. Something to do with the officials, they don't like to…. certify… things out of office hours."

She didn't know what to say to her granddaughter. She couldn't imagine what she was feeling, sitting there with no way of knowing what was happening. She had never loved a man like Molly seemed to love Charles.

And then the phone rang.

Molly sat there, just staring at it as it vibrated on the arm of the chair.

"It's Mrs James." Molly looked at her in horror.

"Well answer it then!" She told her.

Molly still sat there staring at the phone as though it might explode if she touched it. "What if she's ringing me to tell me he's done it?"

"You won't know unless you answer it and we can't sit here for days wondering." She picked the phone up and shoved it into Molly's hand. "Just talk to her." Then she left the room to give her some privacy.

The phone call seemed to last a lifetime as she stood in the kitchen with Dave and Belinda. All they could hear was the occasional 'yes' from Molly, and it was very difficult to work out what was actually going on. They all jumped out of their skin when Molly opened the door to the kitchen.

"Well?" She asked. He couldn't have done it, Molly looked far to calm for that.

"She asked me- begged me- to go to Switzerland. She's bought me a ticket for the last flight tonight."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Five**

In different circumstances she probably would've laughed about the fact that she, the girl who had never left London, was about to go abroad for the second time in less than a week. But she packed an overnight bag with the efficiency of someone who did it on a regular basis, only taking the bare essentials. Her Nan ran around silently grabbing things she thought she might need and shoving them into the bag for her.

When she went back downstairs, the bag hanging from her shoulder, Belinda and Dave were stood side by side in the hallway, arms folded. It reminded her of when she'd been little and they'd tried to tell her off for something, not that she could remember what she was supposed to have done.

"I don't want you getting involved in this." Belinda shook her head. "I've been thinking about it and it's just wrong. If you're seen to be helping him kill himself then you could end up in all kinds of trouble."

"Your Mum is right." Dave chipped in. She fought the urge to ask him when he'd decided to actually become a parent.

"We've seen it on the news. It'll be your whole life Molly. If you end up with a criminal record you'll never get a decent job. I'm sure if you asked half of the neighbours they'd agree with me." Belinda carried on.

"He's asked for her to come. She can't just ignore him." Nan chipped in from behind her on the stairs.

"Yes. Yes she can." Belinda glared at her. "She's given them six months of her life, and fat lot of good it's done too by the state of things. It's been the making of you Molly, this job. You're like a whole new person and for once I thought you might not end up stuck here like us. Don't go and throw it all away now. Whatever that family want to do… they can destroy their own lives. I'm not going to have them drag my Molly into it."

"I think I can make my own mind up." Molly cut in, moving down another step and trying to work out if she could just push past them.

"I'm not sure you can. He's your friend Molly. That young man with his whole life ahead of him. I can't believe you'd even consider helping him with something like this!" Belinda's voice was getting more and more shrill. Dave placed a hand on her shoulder as if to calm her down and for a moment Molly wondered if she might turn around and hit him.

"It's not my decision mum, it's Charles'. The whole point of this is to support him."

"Support him? I suppose they've brainwashed you into thinking that?" Belinda shrugged Dave's hand off. "Let me ask you this- how do you expect to sleep at night knowing that you helped him do this? You'd be helping him die Molly- do you really understand that?"

Molly drew in a breath. "I'd be able to sleep at night because I trust Charles to know what is right for him, and because I know that losing the ability to make a single decision or actually do anything for himself has been the worst thing to happen to him." She looked back and forth between her parents, willing them to understand. "I'm not a child. I love him, really love him and I should never have left him. I can't be here, not knowing what's happening. So I'm going to Switzerland, whether you like it or not."

Almost without knowing what she was doing she walked past them and out of the front door, they stared after her like they had no idea who she even was anymore. She wasn't even sure she knew.

She arrived in Zurich a little after midnight. Given how late it was Mrs James had, as promised, booked her into the hotel at the airport and said she would send a car for her in the morning. She thought she wouldn't sleep, but she did- a restless and fitful sleep haunted by images of Charles' face as she'd walked away from him at the airport a few days earlier.

When she woke up the next morning she was groggy and had no idea where she was. She stared at the unfamiliar curtains, the large tv and her overnight bag sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. Then it suddenly hit her as she woke up a bit more where she was and why. Her stomach clenched and she scrambled out of bed, making it to the bathroom just in time to be sick. She sank down on the cool tiled floor, her hair stuck to her forehead and felt a dark fear creeping over her. She should've listened to her Mum. She wasn't up to this, she didn't want to have to watch him die.

She couldn't eat. She managed half a cup of black coffee, then showered and dressed. She sat down in the lobby, watching the minutes go by on the clock. She didn't think she'd ever felt so lonely in all her life. She had briefly contemplated calling her Nan, but the fear that Belinda or Dave might answer had been to great. She couldn't deal with either of them. Not yet.

She jumped out of her skin when the receptionist came to tell her that her car had arrived.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting- maybe some white buildings next to a lake or snow capped mountains- but what she hadn't been expecting was to be driven through some kind of industrial estate until she arrived at a very ordinary looking house.

The woman who opened the door knew immediately who she was looking for. "He's here. Would you like me to show you?"

She stopped for a moment, wondering if she was really going to go through with it. She stared at the door, noticing how it was weirdly similar to the door on the annexe back home. Then she took a breath and nodded.

She saw the bed before she saw him. It dominated the room, the dark wood and flowery pillows seemed oddly out of place in that setting. Mr James sat on one side of it, Mrs James the other. They were both ghostly pale. Sophie sat in the arm chair in the corner of the room, her knees drawn up to her chin and her eyes red from crying.

The room itself wasn't particular dissimilar to the hotel room she had just left. It was bizarrely ordinary. It was ridiculous, the way they were all sitting there like they were having some kind of normal discussion.

"So." She dropped her bag on the floor and turned to face the bed. "I'm guessing the room service isn't up to much?"

Charles' eyes locked onto hers, and suddenly despite the fact she'd thrown up twice and felt like she hadn't slept for a year, she was really glad she'd come. Maybe relieved was more accurate, like she'd finally satisfied some nagging part of herself in the back of her head.

Charles smiled, then turned towards his mother. "I want to talk to Molly- is that okay?"

She tried to smile, and Molly saw a million things in the way Mrs James looked at her in that moment. There was grief, gratitude and a faint resentment at being shut out even for those few precious moments, and perhaps even a distant hope that her appearance might stop what was about to happen.

"Of course." She nodded and stood up. Mr James followed. "Sophie, come on." She prompted when her daughter made no attempt to move. She stood slowly and reluctantly followed her parents out of the door.

And then it was just the two of them.

"So.." She said softly.

"You're not going to-"

"I'm not going to try and change your mind, no." She shook her head.

"If you're here you accept my choice. It's the first thing I've been in control of since the accident."

"I know." And that was it, he knew it and so did she. There was nothing left for her to do. "I missed you." She added softly.

He seemed to relax a little. "Come here then." When she hesitated he added. "Come here, right here on the bed next to me. Please?"

She realised then that there was relief in his expression, that he was pleased to see her in a way he wasn't going to be able to say. She told herself that it would have to be enough, that she would do the thing he had asked her to do and that would have to be enough.

She lay down on the bed beside him, her arm across his chest and her head moving gently with the rise and fall of his chest. She could feel the faint pressure of his fingertips on her back, his warm breath in her hair. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him and tried not to think of anything at all. She tried to just take in the feel of him lying there with her, committing it to memory in the short time that they had left.

When he spoke she felt it vibrate gently through his chest. "Hey Dawes, tell me something good?"

She stared out of the window at the bright blue Swiss sky and told him a story of two people who shouldn't have met, who'd didn't like each other when they first did, and had eventually found that they were the only two people in the world who could possibly have understood each other. She told him of the adventures they had, the places they had been and the things that she had seen that she never expected to. She drew a world for him that was a million miles away from a Swiss industrial estate, a world in which he was still the person he so desperately wanted to be. She told him of the world he had created for her, full of wonder and possibilities that she never would have known existed. She let him know that a part of her had been healed in a way that he couldn't have known, and that she would always be indebted to him. As she spoke she knew that these would probably be the most important words she would ever speak, and that they needed to not be one last attempt to change his mind, but instead to be everything she'd wanted to say to him over the last six months but never found the words.

Time slowed and stilled. It was just the two of them, her whispering in the empty sunlit room. Charles didn't say much, he didn't answer her back or get sarcastic. He nodded his head, kissed her hair gently and smiled at the good memories she was reminding him of.

"This has been." She told him. "The best six months of my entire life."

There was a long silence. "Funnily enough Dawes, mine too."

And then just like that her heart broke in two. Her composure went completely, her face crumpled and she clung onto him so tightly she briefly worried she might be hurting him. The grief overwhelmed her and she couldn't bear it.

"Don't Dawes." He whispered against her hair. "Please don't. Just look at me."

She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head.

"Look at me, please. You're angry and I don't want to hurt you and make you-"

"No." She shook her head again. "It's not that… I don't… I don't want the last thing you see to be my miserable blotchy face."

"You still don't get it, do you Dawes?" She could hear the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. "It's not your choice."

She took some time to regain her composure, blew her nose and took a deep breath. Finally, she raised herself up on her elbow and looked at him. His eyes, so long strained and unhappy looked oddly clear and relaxed.

"You look beautiful." He smiled.

"Funny." She laughed a little and it was almost enough to send the tears flowing again.

"Come here." He said. "Right up close."

She lay down again so she was facing him, catching sight of the clock above the door which gave her a horrible sickening sense of time running out. She took his arm and wrapped it tightly around her, threading her own arms and legs around him so they were tightly intertwined. She placed her head on the pillow so close to his face that his featured became indistinct. She traced his jaw and nose, her hands sliding through his hair as the tears slid down her cheeks. He watched her silently, as though he was storing every tiny piece of her away somewhere. He was already retreating, withdrawing to a place she couldn't reach him.

She kissed him, trying to bring him back to her. She kissed him and let her lips rest against his so that their breath mingled and her tears became salt on his skin.

She realised, that she was afraid of living without him. She held him, all the while silently telling him that he was loved, because she had promised him that she would support him, no matter how hard it was proving to be for her in the moment. She wanted to will him to live, to ask him how he was allowed to ruin her life by leaving her but she wasn't allowed to have a say in his. Instead they both laid there silently, listening to the sound of their breathing.

She had no idea how long they'd stayed like that, but they became dimly aware of a conversation outside the door in the hallway and church bells chiming somewhere off in the distance. He took a deep breath and drew his head back an inch so they could see each other clearly. He gave her a small smile, almost apologetic.

"Dawes." He said quietly. "Can you call my parents in?"


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Six**

She sat and stared up at the sky, she didn't think she'd ever get tired of looking at the thousands of stars. She'd never have even known they were there if she'd never left London- it was like being in a whole new world. Admittedly, it would've been a bit nicer if she wasn't sitting on top of the toilet block, but it was one of the very few places where she could go for some peace and quiet.

Her fingers went to her necklace, the one he'd given her for her birthday. It seemed absolutely impossible that it was five years since that had happened. Five years had gone by, her entire world had been turned upside down, and there still wasn't a day that went by where she didn't think about him.

She'd struggled when she got home from Switzerland. There was something about the way the rest of the world had just carried on as if nothing had happened that made it even harder to bare, how could anyone expect her to just carry on with her life as if he had never existed?

She sat at home and stared at the walls for days when she got home. Belinda and Dave argued downstairs and the kids came home from school and played noisily. She couldn't go down there, what was she supposed to say to them? She was sick of listening to her Mum and Nan trying to tell her that it would all be okay, that she just needed to give it some time. She sat and nodded as they talked, but she knew that the truth was there was always going to be a hole in her life that only he could fill.

After three weeks of sitting at home, staring at the walls and the wall calendar of activities she'd planned for him and thinking of everything she maybe could've done differently, she hadn't been able to take it anymore. She'd pulled on her trainers and started running. She kept going and going, her lungs burning as her feet pounded against the pavement until she couldn't go any further. She stopped in the doorway, gasping for air as she tried to work out where exactly she was.

That run, as it turned out, might've been the best decision she'd ever made. When she'd eventually got her breath back she'd looked up and found herself stood in front of the army recruitment office. She'd stood there for so long, staring in through the window and looking at the photos and posters they had up that the man inside had come out to ask if he could help her.

Belinda and Dave had been more than a little bit surprised when she told them what she was going to do. Dave had gaped at her like she'd grown another head. She knew what they were thinking- it was a knee jerk reaction to what had happened. Maybe it was, she was far from sure herself, but what she did know was that she needed to get out of that flat, out of London even.

That was what she'd struggled to explain to them, everything had changed for her. Even if he hadn't gone to Switzerland, she wouldn't have been able to stay there. Being with him, everything that had happened in those six months, it had changed her perspective on everything and the idea of staying there and going back to painting nails was suffocating.

Oddly, Mrs James had been her biggest supporter throughout it all. Molly had been more than a little apprehensive when Mrs James had called to say she wanted to meet her for coffee, convinced that she must still be blaming her for not being enough to convince Charles to change his mind, but she'd gone anyway because she knew that she owed her that. Besides, she had a feeling Charles would be far from happy if she didn't go, as much as he'd complained at the time about her being overbearing he did love his Mum.

They sat in a quiet corner of Costa, Molly picking at a loose thread on the top and not knowing where to look. It has been awkward to say the least, Mrs James had looked far from comfortable. She'd eventually started talking, she told Molly about how Mr James had packed his bags and left less than two weeks after they'd got back from Switzerland- apparently he'd decided that with Charles gone there was nothing stopping him from the future he'd been planning, and Mrs James had apparently known about, for years. She'd looked relieved as she told her, that was the thing Molly really noticed. The weight of years of trying to pretend her marriage wasn't falling apart at the seams was finally lifted. She'd put the house up for sale, she said. It seemed silly, all that space just for her, and she couldn't bear to even look at the annexe.

Molly didn't blame her at all.

Then she'd found herself telling Mrs James all about it, she wasn't sure why. It had taken her aback, the grin that spread across Mrs James' face as she'd told her she was joining the army as a medic. She looked genuinely happy for her, which was far more than her actual family had been able to manage.

"Molly, that's amazing! Congratulations." Mrs James smiled warmly.

"Thank you." She felt her cheeks flush.

"You know." Mrs James added quietly. "Charles would have been thrilled, he said to me a couple of times you would've been brilliant at something like that."

"He did?" Molly couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.

Mrs James nodded. "Said you would've driven him mad if he'd ever had to work with you, but that was probably because you would've been too much alike." She smiled fondly at the memory. "I'm glad you've told me this anyway, he made me promise not to let you sit around and be sad that he was gone."

"I miss him, so much." Molly whispered. "I know I only knew him for six months, and it can't even compare to what it's like for you but…"

Mrs James shook her head dismissively. "He loved you Molly, he might not have said it but we could all see it. I'm sorry if I wasn't always supportive of what you were trying to do, I just didn't know what to do for the best. I still don't." She paused for a second, blinking rapidly as the tears started to well in her eyes. "I wish things had been different, but I think deep down I knew from the start he was never going to change his mind. That was the worst part of it, waking up every day and knowing we were a day closer to it and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"I know." Molly agreed quietly. The anxiety she'd felt in those last few weeks was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

"But." Mrs James continued. "I have you to thank for those last six months, you turned them into something truly special- not just for me but for Charles too. I got my son back in a way that I hadn't really, not since the accident, and the fact that I've got those memories with him… well… I don't know how to thank you." Her voice wobbled and the tears that had been threatening to fall rolled slowly down her cheeks.

Molly stared at her, not knowing what to say. It was the last thing she'd been expecting when she'd gone to meet Mrs James.

"Oh, before I forget." Mrs James sniffed, leaning down to rummage in her handbag. "I need to give you this."

Molly felt her stomach roll as she took the thick cream envelope Mrs James was holding out to her. She knew, just from glancing at her name typed on the front of it exactly who it was from.

"Is it….?" She whispered.

Mrs James nodded, smiling gently. "I'll go now and leave you to it. Don't be a stranger through, okay?"

"Thank you." Molly choked out as Mrs James picked up her bag and headed for the door.

She'd sat there until closing time, staring at the envelope unable to bring herself to open it. She'd put it in her pocket and taken it home, and carried it around with her for months.

She had eventually opened it, the night before she deployed on her first tour, hoping that maybe somewhere in there he'd given her some kind of wisdom that might help to settle the overwhelming feeling that she was in over head. What she really wanted was to have him there with her, to make some sarcastic comment about her wimping out on him and give her a kick in the right direction, but she was going to have to accept the letter was the next best thing.

So she'd opened it, and she'd sat there on her bed and sobbed the whole way through it. She could hear him in her head as if he was stood right there in the room with her, reading it to her, and picture the way he smiled as he teased her.

After that it had become something of a ritual, four years on and there she was- sitting on top of yet another toilet block, the letter in her hand even though she knew all of the words by heart. There was something comforting about reading them from the page, it was almost as though a little bit of him was there with her.

 _Dawes,_

 _A few weeks will have passed by the time you read this, maybe even months knowing you. I hope you're somewhere amazing by now and not sitting at home trying to referee another one of your parents arguments, you deserve so much more than that._

 _There's a lot of things I wanted to say to you, but let's be honest- you would've got all emotional on me and also you would never have left me as all this out loud- you always did talk far too much._

 _So here it is, before you start freaking out too much and stop reading. If you contact my lawyer, he will give you the information you need to access some money that I have left for you. Don't panic, it's not enough for you to sit around for the rest of your life, but I hope it'll be enough to buy you your freedom from your parents and give you the option to do whatever it is you want to do, when you figure that out._

 _I'm not giving you this to make you feel indebted to me, or like it's some kind of memorial. I'm doing it because since the accident there hasn't been much that has made me happy, but you have in ways that I couldn't even begin to explain to anyone._

 _I am conscious of the fact that knowing me, and spending the last six months with me has caused you pain and grief and I hope that one day when you are less angry and upset with me you will realise this was really the only thing I could have done- for both of us._

 _You're going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit, it always does feel strange when you get knocked out of your comfort zone- a bit like that first day when we met each other I suppose? But I hope that whatever you decide to do, even if it's staying in London, you'll do something that excites you. Your face on the beach that day when you came back from diving, the excitement and the joy on your face- I hope that one day you'll find that again._

 _Now, I'm not telling you to go and do anything crazy like throw yourself out of a plane or anything (unless that's something you've always wanted to do- then by all means, don't let me stop you), but instead just live boldly. Push yourself. Don't settle for anything you're not one hundred percent happy with. And if you insist on settling down with some ridiculous bloke, make sure he looks after you like I would have loved to have done._

 _You've got the chance Dawes, to go out there and do whatever it is you want. It amazing, to think of all of the possibilities you have and everything you could do. Knowing that I might have been able to help you achieve them has alleviated something for me, so thank you._

 _So this is it. You were scored on my heart from the very first day I met you Molly Dawes. The way you walked in and took none of my crap, your terrible jokes and all of those wonderful cups of tea you made me. You changed my life in so many more ways than I ever could have changed yours._

 _So, go out there and be as brilliant as I know you will be, whatever you decide to do. Don't think of me too often, I don't want you getting all sad on me. Just live well Dawes._

 _Just live._

 _Love,_

 _Charles_

"Ditto." She whispered, folding the letter carefully and slipping it back into her pocket.


End file.
